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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 


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^2^7:A^ 


MINE    OWN    PEOPLE 


BY 

RUDYARD    KIPLING 

Author  of    "  Plain    Tales  from    the    Hills,"     "  Soldiers    Three."     *'  The 
Phantom  'Rickshaw,"  "  The  Light  that  Failed,"  Etc, 


with  a  critical  introduction  by 
HENRY  JAMES 


A  UTHORIZED  EDITION 


NEW  YORK:   46  East  Fourteenth  Street 

THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  :    100  Purchase  Street 


Copyright,  1891, 

BV 

UNITED  STATES   BOOK   COMPANY. 


GIFT 


qss 


Cc^.^^k.ir^'x^^  J  t<^^^^   '<>^   i^~V^i       C,rz^c,.i..€e^ 


^^^  ^^^. 


M8*r8994 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction  by  Henry  James            .          •           .          .  vii 

BiMI            .....••.  IT 

Namgay  Doola       ....  .  . 

^/The  Recrudescence  of  Imray        .... 

/x"  MoTi  Guj — Mutineer        ......  53 

The  Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     ....  65 

^^ K-Y  the  end  of  the  Passage      .....  89 

The  Incarnation  of  Krishna  Mulvaney            .           .  115 
The  Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd          .            .            .            .147 

/^The  Man  Who  Was               .....  177 

A  Conference  of  the  Powers             ....  197 

On  Greenhovv  Hill                .....  217 

^  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy               .           .           «            •  241 


INTRODUCTION, 


It  would  be  difficult  to  answer  the  general 
question  whether  the  books  of  the  world  grow, 
as  they  multiply,  as  much  better  as  one  might 
suppose  they  ought,  with  such  a  lesson  of 
wasteful  experiment  spread  perpetually  behind 
them.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  in  one 
direction  we  profit  largely  by  this  education  : 
whether  or  no  we  have  become  wiser  to  fashion, 
we  have  certainly  become  keener  to  enjoy.  We 
have  acquired  the  sense  of  a  particular  quality 
which  is  precious  beyond  all  others — so  precious 
as  to  make  us  wonder  where,  at  such  a  rate,  our 
posterity  will  look  for  it,  and  how  they  will  pay 
for  it.  After  tasting  many  essences  we  find 
freshness  the  sweetest  of  all.  We  yearn  for  it, 
we  watch  for  it  and  lie  in  wait  for  it,  and  when 
we  catch  it  on  the  wing  (it  flits  by  so  fast),  we 
celebrate    our   capture  with   extravagance.      We 

h 


viii  INTRODUCTION, 

feel  that  after  so  much  has  come  and  gone  it  is 
more  and  more  of  a  feat  and  a  tour  de  force  to  be 
fresh.  The  tormenting  part  of  the  phenomenon  is 
that,  in  any  particular  key,  it  can  happen  but  once 
— by  a  sad  failure  of  the  law  that  inculcates  the 
repetition  of  goodness.  It  is  terribly  a  matter  of 
accident ;  emulation  and  imitation  have  a  fatal  effect 
upon  it.  It  is  easy  to  see,  therefore,  what  impor- 
tance the  epicure  may  attach  to  the  brief  moment 
of  its  bloom.  While  that  lasts  we  all  are  epicures. 
This  helps  to  explain,  I  think,  the  unmis- 
takable intensity  of  the  general  relish  for  Mr. 
Rudyard  Kipling.  His  bloom  lasts,  from  month 
to  month,  almost  surprisingly — by  which  I  mean 
that  he  has  not  worn  out  even  by  active  exercise 
the  particular  property  that  made  us  all,  more 
than  a  year  ago,  so  precipitately  drop  everything 
else  to  attend  to  him.  He  has  many  others 
which  he  will  doubtless  always  keep ;  but  a  part 
of  the  potency  attaching  to  his  freshness,  what 
makes  it  as  exciting  as  a  drawing  of  lots,  is  our 
instinctive  conviction  that  he  cannot,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  keep  that ;  so  that  our  enjoyment  of 
him,  so  long  as  the  miracle  is  still  wrought,  has 
both  the  charm  of  confidence  and  the  charm  of 


INTRODUCTION.  \x 

suspense.  And  then  there  is  the  further  charm, 
with  Mn  Kipling,  that  this  same  freshness  is  such 
a  very  strange  affair  of  its  kind — so  mixed  and 
various  and  cynical,  and,  in  certain  lights,  so  con- 
tradictory of  itself.  The  extreme  recentness  ot 
his  inspiration  is  as  enviable  as  the  tale  is  startling 
that  his  productions  tell  of  his  being  at  home, 
domesticated  and  initiated,  in  this  wicked  and 
weary  world.  At  times  he  strikes  us  as  shock- 
ingly precocious,  at  others  as  serenely  wise.  On 
the  whole,  he  presents  himself  as  a  strangely 
clever  youth  who  has  stolen  the  formidable  mask 
of  maturity  and  rushes  about  making  people  jump 
with  the  deep  sounds,  the  sportive  exaggerations 
of  tone,  that  issue  from  its  painted  lips.  He  has 
this  mark  of  a  real  vocation,  that  different  specta- 
tors may  like  him — must  like  him,  I  should  almost 
say — for  different  things  ;  and  this  refinement  ot 
attraction,  that  to  those  who  reflect  even  upon 
their  pleasures  he  has  as  much  to  say  as  to  those 
who  never  reflect  upon  anything.  Indeed  there 
is  a  certain  amount  of  room  for  surprise  in  the 
fact  that,  beinpf  so  much  the  sort  of  fienre  that 
the  hardened  critic  likes  to  meet,  he  should  also 
be  the  sort  of  figure  that  inspires  the  multitude 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

with  confidence  —  for  a  complicated  air  is,  in 
general,  the  last  thing  that  does  this. 

By  the  critic  who  likes  to  meet  such  a  bristling 
adventurer  as  Mr.  Kipling  I  mean  of  course  the 
critic  for  whom  the  happy  accident  of  character, 
whatever  form  it  may  take,  is  more  of  a  bribe 
to  interest  than  the  promise  of  some  character 
cherished  in  theory — the  appearance  of  justifying 
some  foreofone  conclusion  as  to  what  a  writer  or  a 
book  "ought,"  in  the  Ruskinian  sense,  to  be  ;  the 
critic,  in  a  word,  who  has,  a  priori^  no  rule  for  a 
literary  production  but  that  it  shall  have  genuine 
life.  Such  a  critic  (he  gets  much  more  out  of  his 
opportunities,  I  think,  than  the  other  sort,)  likes  a 
writer  exactly  In  proportion  as  he  Is  a  challenge, 
an  appeal  to  interpretation,  intelligence,  ingenuity, 
to  what  Is  elastic  in  the  critical  mind — in  propor- 
tion indeed  as  he  may  be  a  negation  of  things 
familiar  and  taken  for  orranted.  He  feels  in  this 
case  how  much  more  play  and  sensation  there  is 
for  himself. 

Mr.  Kipling,  then,  has  the  character  that  fur- 
nishes plenty  of  play  and  of  vicarious  experience 
— that  makes  any  perceptive  reader  foresee  a 
rare  luxury.     He  has  the  great  merit  of  being 


INTRODUCTION.  xi 

a  compact  and  convenient  illustration  of  the 
surest  source  of  interest  in  any  painter  of  life — 
that  of  having  an  identity  as  marked  as  a  window- 
frame.  He  is  one  of  the  illustrations,  taken  near 
at  hand,  that  help  to  clear  up  the  vexed  question, 
in  the  novel  or  the  tale,  of  kinds,  camps,  schools, 
distinctions,  the  right  way  and  the  wrong  way  ; 
so  very  positively  does  he  contribute  to  the 
showing  that  there  are  just  as  many  kinds,  as 
many  ways,  as  many  forms  and  degrees  of  the 
**  right,"  as  there  are  personal  points  of  view.  It 
is  the  blessing  of  the  art  he  practises  that  it  is 
made  up  of  experience  conditioned,  infinitely,  in 
this  personal  way — the  sum  of  the  feeling  of  life 
as  reproduced  by  innumerable  natures  ;  natures 
that  feel  through  all  their  differences,  testify 
through  their  diversities.  These  differences, 
which  make  the  identity,  are  of  the  individual ; 
they  form  the  channel  by  which  life  flows  through 
him,  and  how  much  he  is  able  to  give  us  of  life — 
in  other  words,  how  much  he  appeals  to  us — 
depends  on  whether  they  form  it  solidly. 

This  hardness  of  the  conduit,  cemented  with  a 
rare  assurance,  is  perhaps  the  most  striking  idio- 
syncrasy of  Mr.  Kipling  ;  and  what  makes  it  more 


xu  INTRODUCTION. 

remarkable  is  that  accident  of  his  extreme  youth 
which,  if  we  talk  about  him  at  all,  we  cannot 
affect  to  ignore.  I  cannot  pretend  to  give  a  bio- 
graphy or  a  chronology  of  the  author  of  "  Soldiers 
Three,"  but  I  cannot  overlook  the  general,  the 
importunate  fact  that,  confidently  as  he  has  caught 
the  trick  and  habit  of  this  sophisticated  world,  he 
has  not  been  long  of  it.  His  extreme  youth  is 
indeed  what  I  may  call  his  window-bar — the 
support  on  which  he  somewhat  rowdily  leans 
while  he  looks  down  at  the  human  scene  with 
his  pipe  in  his  teeth  :  just  as  his  other  conditions 
(to  mention  only  some  of  them,)  are  his  prodigious 
facility,  which  is  only  less  remarkable  than  his 
stiff  selection ;  his  unabashed  temperament,  his 
flexible  talent,  his  smoking-room  manner,  his 
familiar  friendship  with  India — established  so 
rapidly,  and  so  completely  under  his  control ;  his 
delight  in  battle,  his  "  cheek  "  about  women — and 
indeed  about  men  and  about  everything ;  his 
determination  not  to  be  duped,  his  "imperial" 
fibre,  his  love  of  the  inside  view,  the  private 
soldier  and  the  primitive  man.  I  must  add 
further  to  this  list  of  attractions  the  remarkable 
way  in  which  he  makes  us  aware   that  he  has 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 

been  put  up  to  the  whole  thinor  directly  by  life 
(miraculously,  in  his  teens),  and  not  by  the  com- 
munications of  others.  These  elements,  and 
many  more,  constitute  a  singularly  robust  little 
literary  character  (our  use  of  the  diminutive  is 
altogether  a  note  of  endearment  and  enjoyment), 
which,  if  it  has  the  rattle  of  high  spirits  and  is 
in  no  degree  apologetic  or  shrinking,  yet  offers 
a  very  liberal  pledge  in  the  way  of  good  faith 
and  immediate  performance.  ]Mr.  Kipling's  per- 
formance comes  off  before  the  more  circumspect 
have  time  to  decide  whether  they  like  him  or 
not,  and  if  you  have  seen  it  once  you  will  be  sure 
to  return  to  the  show.  He  makes  us  prick  up 
our  ears  to  the  good  news  that  in  the  smoking- 
room  too  there  may  be  artists  ;  and  indeed  to 
an  intimation  still  more  refined — that  the  latest 
development  of  the  modern  also  may  be,  most 
successfully,  for  the  canny  artist  to  put  his  victim 
off  the  guard  by  imitating  the  amateur  (super- 
ficially of  course,)  to  the  life. 

These,  then,  are  some  of  the  reasons  why  Mr. 
Kipling  may  be  dear  to  the  analyst  as  well  as,  M. 
Renan  says,  to  the  simple.  The  simple  may  like 
him  because  he  is  wonderful  about   India,  and 


»▼  INTRODUCTION. 

India  has  not  been  *'  done  " ;  while  there  is  plenty 
left  for  the  morbid  reader  in  the  surprises  of  his 
skill  and  the  fioriture  of  his  form,  which  are  so 
oddly  independent  of  any  distinctively  literary 
note  in  him,  any  bookish  association.  It  is  as 
one  of  the  morbid  that  the  writer  of  these  remarks 
(which  doubtless  only  too  shamefully  betray  his 
character)  exposes  himself  as  most  consentingly 
under  the  spell.  The  freshness  arising  from  a 
subject  that — by  a  good  fortune  I  do  not  mean  to 
under-estimate — has  never  been  "  done,"  is  after 
all  less  of  an  affair  to  build  upon  than  the  fresh- 
ness residing  in  the  temper  of  the  artist.  Happy 
indeed  is  Mr.  Kipling,  who  can  command  so 
much  of  both  kinds.  It  is  still  as  one  of  the 
morbid,  no  doubt — that  is,  as  one  of  those  who 
are  capable  of  sitting  up  all  night  for  a  new 
impression  of  talent,  of  scouring  the  trodden  field 
for  one  little  spot  of  green — that  I  find  our  young 
author  qu.te  most  curious  in  his  air,  and  not  only 
in  his  air  but  in  his  evidently  very  real  sense,  of 
knowing  his  way  about  life  Curious  in  the 
highest  degree  and  well  worth  attention  is  such 
an  idiosyncrasy  as  this  in  a  young  Anglo-Saxon. 
We  meet  it  with  familiar  frequency  in  the  budding 


INTRODUCTION,  xv 

talents  of  France,  and  it  startles  and  haunts  us 
for  an  hour.  After  an  hour,  however,  the  mystery- 
is  apt  to  fade,  for  we  find  that  the  wondrous  ini- 
tiation is  not  in  the  least  general,  is  only  exceed- 
ingly special,  and  is,  even  with  this  limitation,  very 
often  rather  conventional.  In  a  word,  it  is  with 
the  ladies  that  the  young  Frenchmm  takes  his 
ease,  and  more  particularly  with  ladies  selected 
expressly  to  make  this  attitude  convincing.  When 
tkey  have  let  him  off,  the  dimnesses  too  often 
encompass  him.  But  for  Mr.  Kipling  there  are 
no  dimnesses  anywhere,  and  if  the  ladies  are 
indeed  violently  distinct  they  are  only  strong 
notes  in  a  universal  loudness.  This  loudness 
fills  the  ears  of  Mr.  Kipling's  admirers  (it  lacks 
sweetness,  no  doubt,  for  those  who  are  not  of  the 
number),  and  there  is  really  only  one  strain  that  is 
absent  from  it — the  voice,  as  it  were,  of  the 
civilised  man  ;  in  whom  I  of  course  also  include 
the  civilised  woman.  But  this  is  an  element  that 
for  the  present  one  does  not  miss — every  other 
note  is  so  articulate  and  direct. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  satisfaction  the  author 
gives  us  that  he  can  make  us  speculate  as  to 
whether  he  will  be  able  to  complete  his  picture 


xvf  INTRODUCTION. 

altogether  (this  is  as  far  as  we  presume  to  go  in 
meddling  with  the  question  of  his  future,)  without 
bringing  in  the  complicated  soul.  On  the  day  he 
does  so,  if  he  handles  it  with  anything  like  the 
cleverness  he  has  already  shown,  the  expectation 
of  his  friends  will  take  a  great  bound.  Meanwhile, 
at  any  rate,  we  have  Mulvaney,  and  Mulvaney  is 
after  all  tolerably  complicated.  He  is  only  a  six- 
foot  saturated  Irish  private,  but  he  is  a  consider- 
able pledge  of  more  to  come.  Hasn't  he,  for  that 
matter,  the  tongue  of  a  hoarse  syren,  and  hasn't  he 
also  mysteries  and  infinitudes  almost  Carlylese  ? 
Since  I  am  speaking  of  him  I  may  as  well  say 
that,  as  an  evocation,  he  has  probably  led  captive 
those  of  Mr.  Kipling's  readers  who  have  most 
given  up  resistance.  He  is  a  piece  of  portrai- 
ture of  the  largest,  vividest  kind,  growing  and 
growing  on  the  painter's  hands  without  ever  out- 
growing them.  I  can't  help  regarding  him,  in  a 
certain  sense,  as  Mr.  Kipling's  tutelary  deity 
— a  landmark  in  the  direction  in  which  it  is 
open  to  him  to  look  furthest.  If  the  author 
will  only  go  as  far  in  this  direction  as  Mulvaney 
is  capable  of  taking  him  (and  the  inimitable  Irish- 
man is,  like  Voltaire's  Habakkuk,  capable  de  tout)^ 


INTRODUCTION,  xvii 

he  may  still  discover  a  treasure  and  find  a  reward 
for  the  services  he  has  rendered  the  winner  of 
Dinah  Shadd.  I  hasten  to  add  that  the  truly 
appreciative  reader  should  surely  have  no  quarrel 
with  the  primitive  element  In  Mr.  Kipling's 
subject-matter,  or  with  what,  for  want  of  a  better 
name,  I  may  call  his  love  of  low  life.  What  Is 
that  but  essentially  a  part  of  his  freshness  }  And 
for  what  part  of  his  freshness  are  we  exactly 
more  thankful  than  for  just  this  smart  jostle  that 
he  gives  the  old  stupid  superstition  that  the 
amiability  of  a  storyteller  is  the  amiability  of  the 
people  he  represents — that  their  vulgarity,  or 
depravity,  or  gentility,  or  fatuity  are  tantamount  to 
the  same  qualities  In  the  painter  itself?  A  blow 
from  which,  apparently,  it  will  not  easily  recove* 
is  dealt  this  infantine  philosophy  by  Mr.  Howells 
when,  with  the  most  distinguished  dexterity  and 
all  the  detachment  of  a  master,  he  handles  some  of 
the  clumsiest,  crudest,  most  human  things  in  life 
— answering  surely  thereby  the  playgoers  in  the 
si  A  penny  gallery  who  howl  at  the  representative 
of  the  villain  when  he  comes  before  the  curtain. 

Nothing   is    more   refreshing  than    this  active, 
disinterested    sense    of  thr  real  ;    it  is  doubtless 


xviii  INTRODUCTION, 

the  quality  for  the  want  of  more  of  which  our 
English  and  American  fiction  has  turned  so 
wofully  stale.  We  are  ridden  by  the  old  con- 
ventionaliries  of  type  and  small  proprieties  of 
observance — by  the  foolish  baby-formula  (to  put  it 
sketchily)  of  the  picture  and  the  subject.  Mr. 
Kipling  lias  all  the  air  of  being  disposed  to  life 
the  whole  business  off  the  nursery  carpet,  ^nd  of 
being  perhaps  even  more  able  than  he  is  disposed. 
One  must  hasten  of  course  to  parenthesise  that 
there  is  not,  intrinsically,  a  bit  more  luminosity 
in  treating  of  low  life  and  of  primitive  man  than 
of  those  whom  civilisation  has  kneaded  to  a  finer 
paste  :  the  only  luminosity  in  either  case  is  in  the 
intelligence  with  which  the  thing  is  done.  But 
it  so  happens  that,  among  ourselves,  the  frank, 
capable  outlook,  when  turned  upon  the  vulgar 
majority,  the  coarse,  receding  edges  of  the  social 
perspective,  borrows  a  charm  from  being  new ; 
such  a  charm  as,  for  instance,  repetition  has 
already  despoiled  it  ot  among  the  French — the 
hapless  French  who  pay  the  penalty  as  well  as 
enjoy  the  glow  of  living  intellectually  so  much 
faster  than  we.  It  is  the  most  inexorable  part  of 
our  fate  that  we  grow  tired  of  everything,  and  of 


INTRODUCTION,  xix 

course  in  due  time  we  may  grow  tired  even  of 
w^hat  explorers  shall  come  back  to  tell  us  about 
the  great  grimy  condition,  or,  with  unprecedented 
items  and  details,  about  the  grey  middle  state  which 
darkens  into  it.  But  the  explorers,  bless  them  ! 
may  have  a  long  day  before  that ;  it  is  early  to 
trouble  about  reactions,  so  that  we  must  gi^e 
them  the  benefit  of  every  presumption.  We  are 
thank:ul  for  any  boldness  and  any  sharp  curiosity, 
and  that  is  why  w^e  are  thankful  for  Mr.  KipHng's 
general  spirit  and  for  most  of  his  excursions. 

Many  of  th^se,  certiinly,  are  into  a  region  not 
to  be  desii^nated  as  superficially  dim,  though 
indeed  the  author  always  reminds  us  that  India 
is  above  all  the  land  of  mystery.  A  large  part  of 
his  high  spirits,  and  of  ours,  comes  doubtless 
from  the  amusement  of  such  vivid,  heterogeneous 
material,  from  the  irresistible  magic  of  scorching 
suns,  subject  empires,  uncanny  religions,  uneasy 
garrisons  and  smothered-up  women — from  heat 
and  colour  and  danger  and  dust.  India  is  a 
portentous  image,  and  we  are  duly  awed  by  the 
familiarities  it  undergoes  at  I\Ir.  Kipling's  hands 
and  by  tiie  fine  impunity,  the  sort  of  fortune  that 
favours  the  brave,  of  his  want  of  awe.     An  abject 


«  INTRODUCTION, 

humility  is  not  his  strong  point,  but  he  gives  us 
something  instead  of  it — vividness  and  drollery, 
the  vision  and  the  thrill  of  many  things,  the 
misery  and  strangeness  of  most,  the  personal 
sense  of  a  hundred  queer  contacts  and  risks.  And 
then  in  the  absence  of  respect  he  has  plenty  of 
knowledge,  and  if  knowledge  should  fail  him  he 
would  have  plenty  of  invention.  Moreover,  if  in- 
vention should  ever  fail  him,  he  would  still  have 
the  lyric  string  and  the  patriotic  chord,  on  which 
he  plays  admirably ;  so  that  it  may  be  said  he  is 
a  man  of  resources.  What  he  gives  us,  above 
all,  is  the  feeling  of  the  English  manner  and  the 
English  blood  in  conditions  they  have  made  at 
once  so  much  and  so  little  their  own ;  with  mani- 
festations grotesque  enough  in  some  of  his  satiric 
sketches  and  deeply  impressive  in  some  of  his 
anecdotes  of  individual  responsibility. 

His  Indian  impressions  divide  them^selves  into 
three  groups,  one  of  which,  I  think,  very  much 
outshines  the  others.  First  to  be  mentioned  are 
the  tales  of  native  life,  curious  glimpses  of  custom 
and  superstition,  dusky  matters  not  beholden  of 
the  many,  for  which  the  author  has  a  remarkable 
fiair.     Then  comes  the  social,  the  Anglo-Indian 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xxi 

episode,  the  study  of  administrative  and  military 
types  and  of  the  wonderful  rattling,  riding  ladies 
who,  at  Simla  and  more  desperate  stations,  look 
out  for  husbands  and  lovers  ;  often,  it  would  seem, 
the  husbands  and  lovers  of  others.  The  most 
brilliant  group  is  devoted  wholly  to  the  common 
soldier,  and  of  this  series  it  appears  to  me  that 
too  much  good  is  hardly  to  be  said.  Here  Mr. 
Kipling,  with  all  his  offhand ness,  is  a  master  ;  for 
we  are  held  not  so  much  by  the  greater  or  less 
oddity  of  the  particular  yarn — sometimes  it  is 
scarcely  a  yarn  at  all,  but  something  much  less 
artificial — as  by  the  robust  attitude  of  the  narrator, 
who  never  arranges  or  glosses  or  falsifies,  but 
makes  straight  for  the  common  and  the  character- 
istic. I  have  mentioned  the  great  esteem  in  which 
I  hold  iMulvaney — surely  a  charming  man  and 
one  qualified  to  adorn  a  higher  sphere.  Mulvaney 
is  a  creation  to  be  proud  of,  and  his  two  comrades 
stand  as  firm  on  their  legs.  In  spite  of  Mulvaney's 
social  possibilities  they  are  all  three  finished 
brutes;  but  it  is  precisely  in  the  finish  that  we 
delight.  Whatever  Mr.  Kipling  may  relate  about 
them  for  ever  will  encounter  readers  equally  fasci- 
nated and  unable  fully  to  justify  their  faith. 


xxii  INTRODUCTION, 

Are  not  those  literary  pleasures  after  all  the 
most  intense  which  are  the  most  perverse  and 
whimsical,  and  even  indefensible  ?  There  is  a 
logic  in  them  somewhere,  but  it  often  lies  below 
the  plummet  of  criticism.  The  spell  may  be 
weak  in  a  writer  who  has  every  reasonable  and 
regular  claim,  and  it  may  be  irresistible  in  one 
who  presents  himself  with  a  style  corresponding 
to  a  bad  hat.  A  good  hat  is  better  than  a  bad 
one,  but  a  conjurer  may  wear  either.  Many  a 
reader  will  never  be  able  to  say  what  secret 
human  force  lays  its  hand  upon  him  when  Private 
Ortheris,  having  sworn  '*  quietly  into  the  blue 
sky,"  goes  mad  with  home-sickness  by  the  yellow- 
river  and  raves  for  the  basest  sights  and  sounds 
of  London.  I  can  scarcely  tell  why  I  think  ''  The 
Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd  "  a  masterpiece  (though, 
indeed,  I  can  make  a  shrewd  guess  at  one  of  the 
reasons),  nor  would  it  be  worth  while  perhaps  to 
attempt  to  defend  the  same  pretension  in  regard 
to  "  On  Greenhow  Hill  " — much  less  to  trouble  the 
tolerant  reader  of  these  remarks  with  a  statement 
of  how  many  more  performances  in  the  nature  of 
*'  The  End  of  the  Passage  "  (quite  admitting  even 
that  they  might  not  represent  Mr.  Kipling  at  his 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

best,)  I  am  conscious  of  a  latent  relish  for.  One 
might  as  well  admit  while  one  is  about  it  that  one 
has  wept  profusely  over  "  The  Drums  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft,"  the  history  of  the  "Dutch  courage''  of 
two  dreadful  dirty  little  boys,  who,  in  the  face  of 
Afghans  scarcely  more  dreadful,  saved  the  repu- 
tation of  their  regiment  and  perished,  the  least 
mawkishly  in  the  world,  in  a  squalor  of  battle  in- 
comparably expressed.  People  who  know  how 
peaceful  they  are  themselves  and  have  no  blood- 
shed to  reproach  themselves  with  needn't  scruple 
to  mention  the  glamour  that  Mr.  Kipling's  intense 
militarism  has  for  them  and  how  astonishing  and 
contagious  they  find  it,  in  spite  of  the  uii romantic 
complexion  of  it — the  way  It  bristles  with  all  sorts 
of  uglinesses  and  technicalities.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  I  go  all  the  way  even  with  "  The  Gadsbys  " 
— the  Gadsbys  were  so  connected  (uncomfortably 
it  is  true)  with  the  Army.  There  is  fearful  fighting 
— or  a  fearful  danger  of  it — in  '•  The  Man  who 
would  be  King":  is  that  the  reason  we  are  deeply 
affected  by  this  extraordinary  tale  .'^  It  Is  one 
of  them,  doubtless,  for  Mr.  Kipling  has  many 
reasons,  after  all,  on  his  side,  though  they  don't 
equally  call  aloud  to  be  uttered. 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

One  more  of  them,  at  any  rate,  I  must  add 
to  these  unsystematised  remarks — it  Is  the  one 
I  spoke  of  a  shrewd  guess  at  In  alluding  to  ''  The 
Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd."  The  talent  that 
produces  such  a  tale  is  a  talent  eminently  in 
harmony  with  the  short  story,  and  the  short 
story  is,  on  our  side  of  the  Channel  and  of  the 
Atlantic,  a  mine  which  will  take  a  great  deal  of 
working.  Admirable  is  the  clearness  with  which 
Mr.  Kipling  perceives  this — perceives  what  in- 
numerable chances  it  gives,  chances  of  touching 
life  in  a  thousand  different  places,  taking  it  up 
in  innumerable  pieces,  each  a  specimen  and  an 
illustration.  In  a  word,  he  appreciates  the  episode, 
and  there  are  signs  to  show  that  this  shrewdness 
will,  in  general,  have  long  innings.  It  will  find 
the  detachable,  compressible  *'  case "  an  admir- 
able, flexible  form  ;  the  cultivation  of  which  may 
well  add  to  the  mistrust  already  entertained  by 
Mr.  Kipling,  if  his  manner  does  not  betray  him, 
for  what  is  clumsy  and  tasteless  In  the  time- 
honoured  practice  of  the  ''plot."  It  will  fortify 
him  in  the  conviction  that  the  vivid  picture  has  a 
greater  communicative  value  than  the  Chinese 
puzzle.      There  is  little  enough   ''  plot  "  in   such 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xx  v 

a  perfect  little  piece  of  hard  representation  as 
"  The  End  of  the  Passage,"  to  cite  again  only 
the  most  salient  of  twenty  examples. 

But  I  am  speaking  of  our  author's  future,  which 
is  the  luxury  that  I  meant  to  forbid  myself — 
precisely  because  the  subject  is  so  tempting. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  (for  the  prophet) 
so  charming  as  to  prophesy,  and  as  there  is 
nothing  so  inconclusive  the  tendency  should  be 
repressed  in  proportion  as  the  opportunity  is 
good.  There  is  a  certain  want  of  courtesy  to  a 
peculiarly  contemporaneous  present  even  in  spe- 
culating, with  a  dozen  deferential  precautions, 
on  the  question  of  what  will  become  in  the  later 
hours  of  the  day  of  a  talent  that  has  got  up  so 
early.  Mr.  Kipling's  actual  performance  is  like 
a  tremendous  walk  before  breakfast,  making  one 
welcome  the  idea  of  the  meal,  but  consider  with 
some  alarm  the  hours  still  to  be  traversed.  Yet 
if  his  breakfast  is  all  to  come  the  indications  are 
that  he  will  be  more  active  than  ever  after  he 
has  had  it.  Amonor  these  indications  are  the 
unflagging  character  of  his  pace  and  the  excellent 
form,  as  they  say  in  athletic  circles,  in  which  he 
oets    over  the    o;round.       We    don't    detect    him 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Stumbling ;  on  the  contrary,  he  steps  out  quite 
as  briskly  as  at  first  and  still  more  firmly.  There 
is  something  zealous  and  craftsman-like  in  him 
which  shows  that  he  feels  both  joy  and  respon- 
sibility. A  whimsical,  wanton  reader,  haunted  by 
a  recollection  of  all  the  good  things  he  has  seen 
spoiled  ;  by  a  sense  of  the  miserable,  or,  at  any 
rate,  the  inferior,  in  so  many  continuations  and 
endings,  is  almost  capable  of  perverting  poetic 
justice  to  the  idea  that  it  would  be  even  positively 
well  for  so  surprising  a  producer  to  remain  simply 
the  fortunate,  suggestive,  unconfirmed  and  un- 
qualified representative  of  what  he  has  actually 
done.     We  can  always  refer  to  that. 

Henry  James. 


BIM,l 


BIMI. 


The  orang-outang  in  the  big  iron  cage  lashed  to  the 
sheep-pen  began  the  discussion.  The  night  was  stiflingly 
hot,  and  as  Hans  Breitmann  and  I  passed  him,  dragging  our 
bedding  to  the  fore-peak  of  the  steamer,  he  roused  himself 
and  chattered  obscenely.  He  had  been  caught  somewhere 
in  the  Malayan  Archipelago,  and  was  going  to  England  to 
be  exhibited  at  a  shilling  a  head.  For  four  days  he  had 
struggled,  yelled,  and  wrenched  at  the  heavy  bars  of  his  prison 
without  ceasing,  and  had  nearly  slain  a  Lascar  incautious 
enough  to  come  within  reach  of  the  great  hairy  paw. 

"  It  would  be  well  for  you,  mine  friend,  if  you  was  a  liddle 
seasick,"  said  Hans  Breitmann,  pausing  by  the  cage.  "  You 
haf  too  much  Ego  in  your  Cosmos." 

The  orang-outang's  arm  slid  out  negligently  from  between 
the  bars.  No  one  would  have  believed  that  it  would  make 
a  sudden  snakelike  rush  at  the  German's  breast.  The  thin 
silk  of  the  sleeping-suit  tore  out:  Hans  stepped  back  uncon- 
cernedly, to  pluck  a  banana  from  a  bunch  hanging  close  to 
one  of  the  boats. 

"Too  much  Ego,"  said  he,  peeling  the  fruit  and  offering 
it  to  the  caged  devil,  who  was  rending  the  silk  to  tatters. 

Then  we  laid  out  our  bedding  in  the  bows  among  the 
sleeping  Lascars,  to  catch  any  breeze  that  the  pace  of  the 
ship  might  give  us.  The  sea  was  like  smoky  oil,  except 
where  it  turned  to  fire  under  our  forefoot  and  whirled  back 


1 2  BIMI. 

into  the  dark  in  smears  of  dull  flame.  There  was  a  thunder- 
storm some  miles  away:  we  could  see  the  glimmer  of  the 
lightning.  The  ship's  cow,  distressed  by  the  heat  and  the 
smell  of  the  ape-beast  in  the  cage,  lowed  unhappily  from 
time  to  time  in  exactly  the  same  key  as  the  lookout  man  at 
the  bows  answered  the  hourly  call  from  the  bridge.  The 
trampling  tune  of  the  engines  was  very  distinct,  and  the  jar- 
ring of  the  ash-lift,  as  it  was  tipped  into  the  sea,  hurt  the 
procession  of  hushed  noise.  Hans  lay  down  by  my  side 
and  lighted  a  good-night  cigar.  This  was  naturally  the  be- 
ginning of  conversation.  He  owned  a  voice  as  soothing  as 
the  wash  of  the  sea,  and  stores  of  experiences  as  vast  as  the 
sea  itself;  for  his  business  in  life  was  to  wander  up  and  down 
the  world,  collecting  orchids  and  wild  beasts  and  ethnologi- 
cal specimens  for  German  and  American  dealers.  I  watched 
the  glowing  end  of  his  cigar  wax  and  wane  in  the  gloom,  as 
the  sentences  rose  and  fell,  till  I  was  nearly  asleep.  The 
orang-outang,  troubled  by  some  dream  of  the  forests  of  his 
freedom,  began  to  yell  like  a  soul  in  purgatory,  and  to 
wrench  madly  at  the  bars  of  the  cage. 

"If  he  was  out  now  dere  would  not  be  much  of  us  left 
hereabouts,"  said  Hans  lazily.  **  He  screams  good.  See, 
now,  how  I  shall  tame  him  when  he  stops  himself." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  outcry,  and  from  Hans'  mouth 
came  an  imitation  of  a  snake's  hiss,  so  perfect  that  I  almost 
sprang  to  my  feet.  The  sustained  murderous  sound  ran 
along  the  deck,  and  the  wrenching  at  the  bars  ceased.  The 
orang-outang  was  quaking  in  an  ecstasy  of  pure  terror. 

"  Dot  stopped  him,"  said  Hans.  "  I  learned  dot  trick  in 
Mogoung  Tanjong  when  I  was  collecting  liddle  monkeys  for 
some  peoples  in  Berlin.  Efery  one  in  der  world  is  afraid  of 
der  monkeys — except  der  snake.  So  I  blay  snake  against 
monkey,  and  he  keep  quite  still.  Dere  was  too  much  Ego 
in  his  Cosmos.     Dot  is  der  soul-custom  of  monkeys.     Are 


BIMT.  13 

vou  asleep,  or  will  )-oii  listen,  and  I  will  tell  a  dale  dot  you 
shall  not  pelief  ?  " 

"  There's  no  tale  in  the  wide  world  that  I  can't  believe," 
I  said. 

"  If  you  have  learned  pelief  you  haf  learned  somedings. 
Now  I  shall  try  your  pelief.  Good!  When  I  was  collecting 
dose  liddle  monkeys — it  was  in  '79  or  '80,  und  I  was  in  der 
islands  of  der  Archipelago — over  dere  in  der  dark" — he 
pointed  southward  to  New  Guinea  generally — "  Mein  Gott! 
I  would  sooner  collect  life  red  devils  than  liddle  monkeys. 
When  dey  do  not  bite  off  your  thumbs  (ley  are  always  dying 
from  nostalgia — home-sick — for  dey  haf  der  imperfect  soul, 
which  is  midway  arrested  in  defelopment — und  too  much 
Ego.  I  was  dere  for  nearly  a  year,  und  dere  I  found  a  man 
dot  was  called  Bertran.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  und  he  was 
goot  man — naturalist  to  his  bone.  Dey  said  he  was  an  es- 
caped convict,  but  he  was  a  naturalist,  und  dot  was  enough 
for  me.  He  would  call  all  der  life  beasts  from  der  forest, 
und  dey  would  come.  I  said  he  was  St.  Francis  of  Assizi  in 
a  new  dransmigration  produced,  und  he  laughed  und  said  he 
haf  never  preach  to  der  fishes.  He  sold  dem  for  tripang^* 
beche-de-mer 

"  Und  dot  man,  who  was  king  of  beasts-tamer  men,  he  had 
in  der  house  shust  such  anoder  as  dot  devil-animal  in  der 
cage — a  great  orang-outang  dot  thought  he  was  a  man.  He 
haf  found  him  when  he  was  a  child — der  orang-outang — und 
he  was  child  and  brother  and  opera  comique  all  round  to 
Bertran.  He  had  his  room  in  dot  house  —  not  a  cage,  but 
a  room — mit  a  bed  and  sheets,  and  he  would  got  to  bed  and 
get  up  in  der  morning  and  smoke  his  cigar  und  eat  his  din- 
ner mit  Bertran,  und  walk  mit  him  hand-in-hand,  which  was 
most  horrible.  Herr  Gott  I  I  haf  seen  dot  beast  throw  him- 
self back  in  his  chair  and  laugh  when  Bertran  haf  made  fun 
of  me.      He  was  not  ^i  beast;  he  was  a  man,  and  he  talked 


14  BIMI. 

to  Bertran,  und  Bertran  comprehend,  for  I  have  seen  dem. 
Und  he  was  always  politeful  to  me  except  when  I  talk  too 
long  to  Bertran  und  say  nodings  at  all  to  him.  Den  he 
would  pull  me  away — dis  great,  dark  devil,  mit  his  enormous 
paws — shust  as  if  I  was  a  child.  He  was  not  a  beast:  he 
was  a  man.  Dis  I  saw  pefore  I  know  him  three  months,  und 
Bertran  he  haf  saw  the  same ;  and  Bimi,  der  orang-outang, 
haf  understood  us  both,  mit  his  cigar  between  his  big-dog 
teeth  und  der  blue  gum. 

"  I  was  dere  a  year,  dere  und  at  dere  oder  islands — some- 
dimes  for  monkeys  and  sometimes  for  butterflies  und  orchits. 
One  time  Bertran  says  to  me  dot  he  will  be  married,  because 
he  haf  found  a  girl  dot  was  goot,  and  he  inquire  if  this  mar- 
rying-idea  was  right.  I  would  not  say,  pecause  it  was  not 
me  dot  was  going  to  be  married.  Den  he  go  off  courting 
der  girl — she  was  a  half-caste  French  girl — very  pretty.  Haf 
you  got  a  new  light  for  my  cigar?  Ouf !  Very  pretty.  Only 
I  say,  '  Haf  you  thought  of  Bimi?  If  he  pulls  me  away  when 
I  talk  to  you,  what  will  he  do  to  your  wife?  He  will  pull  her 
in  pieces.  If  I  was  you,  Bertran,  I  would  gif  my  wife  for 
wedding  present  der  stuff  figure  of  Bimi.'  By  dot  time  I 
had  leamed  somedings  about  der  monkey  peoples.  'Shoot 
hnn?'  says  Bertran.  'He  is  your  beast,'  I  said;  'if  he  was 
mine  he  would  be  shot  now! ' 

"  Den  I  felt  at  der  back  of  my  neck  der  fingers  of  Bimi. 
Mein  Gott!  I  tell  you  dot  he  talked  through  dose  fingers. 
It  was  der  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet  all  gomplete.  He  slide 
his  hairy  arm  round  my  neck,  and  he  tilt  up  my  chin  und 
look  into  my  face,  shust  to  see  if  I  understood  his  talk  so 
well  as  he  understood  mine. 

" '  See  now  dere ! '  says  Bertran,  '  und  you  would  shoot 
him  while  he  is  cuddling  you?     Dot  is  der  Teuton  ingrate! ' 

"  But  I  knew  dot  I  had  made  Bimi  a  life's  enemy,  pecause 
his  fingers  haf  talk  murder  through  the  back  of  my  neck. 


BIMI.  15 

Next  dime  I  see  Binii  dere  was  a  pistol  in  my  belt,  und  he 
touch  it  once,  and  I  .open  der  breech  to  show  him  it  was 
loaded.  He  haf  seen  der  liddle  monkeys  killed  in  der  woods, 
and  he  understood. 

"So  Bertran  he  was  married,  and  he  forgot  clean  about 
Bimi  dot  was  skippin'  alone  on  der  beach  mit  der  half  of  a 
human  soul  in  his  belly.  I  was  see  him  skip,  und  he  took  a 
big  bough  und  thrash  der  sand  till  he  haf  made  a  great  hole 
like  a  grave.  So  I  says  to  Bertran,  '  For  any  sakes,  kill  Bimi. 
He  is  mad  mit  der  jealousy.' 

"  Bertran  haf  said,  '  He  is  not  mad  at  all.  He  haf  obey 
and  love  my  wife,  und  if  she  speak  he  will  get  her  slippers,' 
und  he  looked  at  his  wife  across  der  room.  She  was  a  very 
pretty  girl. 

"  Den  I  said  to  him,  *  Dost  dou  pretend  to  know  monkeys 
und  dis  beast  dot  is  lashing  himself  mad  upon  der  sands, 
pecause  you  do  not  talk  to  him?  Shoot  him  when  he  comes 
to  der  house,  for  he  haf  der  light  in  his  eye  dot  means  killing 
— und  killing.'  Bimi  come  to  der  house,  but  dere  was  no 
light  in  his  eye.  It  was  all  put  away,  cunning — so  cunning 
— und  he  fetch  der  girl  her  slippers,  und  Bertran  turn  to  me 
and  say,  '  Dost  thou  know  him  in  nine  months  more  dan  I 
haf  known  him  in  twelve  years?  Shall  a  child  stab  his  fader? 
I  have  fed  him,  und  he  was  my  child.  Do  not  speak  this 
nonsense  to  my  wife  or  to  me  any  more.' 

"  Dot  next  day  Bertran  came  to  my  house  to  help  me 
make  some  wood  cases  for  der  specimens,  und  he  tell  me  dot 
he  haf  left  his  wife  a  liddle  while  mit  Bimi  in  der  garden. 
Den  I  finish  my  cases  quick,  und  I  say,  '  Let  us  go  to  your 
house  und  get  a  trink.'  He  laugh  und  say,  '  Come  along,  dry 
mans.' 

"  His  wife  was  not  in  der  garden,  und  Bimi  did  not  come 
when  Bertran  called.  Und  his  wife  did  not  come  when  he 
called,  und  he  knocked  at  her  bedroom  door  und  dot  was 


1 6  BIMJ. 

shut  tight — locked.  Den  he  look  at  me,  und  his  face  was 
white.  I  broke  down  der  door  mit  my  shoulder,  und  der 
thatch  of  der  roof  was  torn  into  a  great  hole,  und  der  sun 
came  in  upon  der  floor.  Haf  you  ever  seen  paper  in  der 
waste-basket,  or  cards  at  whist  on  der  table  scattered?  Dere 
was  no  wife  dot  could  be  seen.  1  tell  you  dere  was  nodings 
in  dot  room  dot  might  be  a  woman.  Dere  was  stuff  on  der 
floor  und  dot  was  all.  I  looked  at  dese  things  und  I  was 
very  sick;  but  Bertran  looked  a  liddle  longer  at  what  was 
upon  the  floor  und  der  walls,  und  der  hole  in  der  thatch. 
Den  he  pegan  to  laugh,  soft  and  low,  und  I  knew  und  thank 
Got  dot  he  was  mad.  He  nefer  cried,  he  nefer  prayed.  He 
stood  all  still  in  der  doorway  und  laugh  to  himself.  Den  he 
said,  ^  She  haf  locked  herself  in  dis  room,  and  he  haf  torn  up 
der  thatch.  Fi  done.  Dot  is  so.  We  will  mend  der  thatch 
und  wait  for  Bimi.     He  will  surely  come.' 

"  I  tell  you  we  waited  ten  days  in  dot  house,  after  der 
room  was  made  into  a  room  again,  and  once  or  twice  we  saw 
Bimi  comin'  a  liddle  way  from  der  woods.  He  was  afraid 
pecause  he  half  done  wrong.  Bertran  called  him  when  he 
was  come  to  look  on  the  tenth  day,  und  Bimi  come  skipping 
along  der  beach  und  making  noises,  mit  a  long  piece  of  black 
hair  in  his  hands.  Den  Bertran  laugh  and  say,  '  Fi  done! ' 
shust  as  if  it  was  a  glass  broken  upon  der  table ;  und  Bimi 
come  nearer,  und  Bertran  was  honey-sweet  in  his  voice  and 
laughed  to  himself.  For  three  days  he  made  love  to  Bimi, 
pecause  Bimi  would  not  let  himself  be  touched.  Den  Bimi 
come  to  dinner  at  der  same  table  mit  us,  und  der  hair  on  his 
hands  was  all  black  und  thick  mit — mit  what  had  dried  on 
der  hands.  Bertran  gave  him  sangaree  till  Bimi  was  drunk 
and  stupid,  und  den " 

Hans  paused  to  puff  at  his  cigar. 

"And  then?"  said  I. 

"  Und  den  Bertran  he  kill  him  mit  his  hands,  und  I  go  for 


BIMI.  17 

a  walk  upon  der  beach.  It  was  Bertran's  own  pizines3. 
When  I  come  back  der  ape  he  was  dead,  und  Bertran  he  was 
dying  abofe  him ;  but  still  he  laughed  Uddle  und  low  and  he 
was  quite  content.  Now  you  know  der  formula  of  der 
strength  of  der  orang-outang — it  is  more  as  seven  to  one  in 
relation  to  man.  But  Bertran,  he  haf  killed  Bimi  mit  sooch 
dings  as  Gott  gif  him.     Dot  was  der  mericle." 

The  infernal  clamor  in  the  cage  recommenced.  "Aha! 
Dot  friend  of  ours  haf  still  too  much  Ego  in  his  Cosmos. 
Be  quiet,  thou!" 

Hans  hissed  long  and  venomously.  We  could  hear  the 
great  beast  quaking  in  his  cage. 

"  But  why  in  the  world  didn't  you  help  Bertran  instead  of 
letting  h-'m  be  killed?"  I  asked. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Hans,  composedly  stretching  himself  to 
slumber,  "  it  was  not  nice  even  to  mineself  dot  I  should  lif 
after  I  had  seen  dot  room  mit  der  hole  in  aer  thatch.  Und 
Bertran,  he  was  her  husband,     Goot-night,  und  sleep  well" 


NAMGAY  DOOLA 


NAMGAY  DOOLA, 


Once  jpon  a  time  there  was  a  king  who  lived  on  the  road 
to  Thibet,  very  many  miles  in  the  Himalaya  Mountains. 
His  kingdom  was  ii,ooo  feet  above  the  sea  and  exactly  four 
miles  square,  but  most  of  the  miles  stood  on  end  owing  to 
the  nature  of  the  country.  His  revenues  were  rather  less 
than  ;£"4oo  yearly,  and  they  were  expended  on  the  mainte- 
nance of  one  elephant  and  a  standing  army  of  five  men. 
He  was  tributary  to  the  Indian  government,  who  allowed 
him  certain  sums  for  keeping  a  section  of  the  Himalaya- 
Thibet  road  in  repair.  He  further  increased  his  revenues 
by  selling  timber  to  the  railway  companies,  for  he  would  cut 
the  great  deodar  trees  in  his  own  forest  and  they  fell  thun- 
dering into  the  Sutlej  River  and  were  swept  down  to  the 
Plains,  300  miles  away,  and  became  railway  ties.  Now  and 
again  this  king,  whose  name  does  not  matter,  would  mount  a 
ring-streaked  horse  and  ride  scores  of  miles  to  Simlatown  to 
confer  ^vith  the  lieutenant-governor  on  matters  of  state,  or 
to  assure  the  viceroy  that  his  sword  was  at  the  service  of  the 
queen-empress.  Then  the  viceroy  would  cause  a  ruffle  of 
drums  to  be  sounded  and  the  ring-streaked  horse  and  the 
cavalry  of  the  state — two  men  in  tatters — and  the  herald  who 
bore  the  Silver  Stick  before  the  king  would  trot  back  to  their 
own  place,  which  was  between  the  tail  of  a  heaven-cHmbing 
glacier  and  a  dark  birch  forest. 

Now  from  such  a  king,  always  remembering  that  he  pos- 


22  NAMGA  Y  DOOLA. 

sessed  one  veritable  elephant  and  could  count  his  descent 
for  1,200  years,  I  expected,  when  it  was  my  fate  to  wander 
through  his  dominions,  no  more  than  mere  license  to  live. 

The  night  had  closed  in  rain  and  rolling  clouds  blotted 
out  the  lights  of  the  villages  in  the  valley.  Forty  miles  away, 
untouched  by  cloud  or  storm,  the  white  shoulder  of  Donga 
Pa— the  Mountain  of  the  Council  of  the  Gods — upheld  the 
evening  star.  The  monkeys  sang  sorrowfully  to  each  other 
as  they  hunted  for  dry  roots  in  the  fern-draped  trees,  and  the 
last  puff  of  the  day-wind  brought  from  the  unseen  villages 
the  scent  of  damp  wood  smoke,  hot  cakes,  dripping  under- 
growth, and  rotting  pine-cones.  That  smell  is  the  true  smell 
of  the  Himalayas,  and  if  it  once  gets  into  the  blood  of  a  man 
he  will,  at  the  last,  forgetting  everything  else,  return  to  the 
Hills  to  die.  The  clouds  closed  and  the  smell  went  away, 
and  there  remained  nothing  in  all  the  world  except  chiUing 
white  mists  and  the  boom  of  the  Sutlej  River. 

A  fat-tailed  sheep,  who  did  not  want  to  die,  bleated  lament- 
ably at  my  tent-door.  He  was  scuffling  with  the  prime  min- 
ister and  the  director-general  of  public  education  and  he 
was  a  royal  gift  to  me  and  my  camp  servants.  I  expressed 
my  thanks  suitably  and  inquired  if  I  might  have  audience 
of  the  king.  The  prime  minister  readjusted  his  turban — 
it  had  fallen  off  in  the  struggle — and  assured  me  that  the 
king  would  be  very  pleased  to  see  me.  Therefore  I  dis- 
patched two  bottles  as  a  foretaste,  and  when  the  sheep  had 
entered  upon  another  incarnation,  climbed  up  to  the  king's 
palace  through  the  wet.  He  had  sent  his  army  to  escort  me, 
but  it  stayed  to  talk  with  my  cook.  Soldiers  are  very  much 
alike  all  the  world  over. 

The  palace  was  a  four-roomed,  white-washed  mud-and- 
timber  house,  the  finest  in  all  the  Hills  for  a  day's  journey. 
The  king  was  dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  jacket,  white  muslin 
trousers,  and  a  saffron-yellow  turban  of  price.     He  gave  me 


NAMGA  V  no  OLA.  2$ 

audience  in  a  little  carpeted  room  opening  off  the  palace 
court-yard,  which  was  occupied  by  the  elephant  of  state. 
The  great  beast  was  sheeted  and  anchored  from  trunk  to 
tail,  and  the  curve  of  his  back  stood  out  against  the  sky 
line. 

The  prime  minister  and  the  director-general  of  public 
instruction  were  present  to  introduce  me;  but  all  the  court 
had  been  dismissed  lest  the  two  bottles  aforesaid  should  cor- 
rupt their  morals.  The  king  cast  a  wreath  of  heavy,  scented 
flowers  round  my  neck  as  I  bowed,  and  inquired  how  my 
honored  presence  had  the  felicity  to  be.  I  said  that  through 
seeing  his  auspicious  countenance  the  mists  of  the  night  had 
turned  into  sunshine,  and  that  by  reason  of  his  beneficent 
sheep  his  good  deeds  would  be  remembered  by  the  gods. 
He  said  that  since  I  had  set  my  magnificent  foot  in  his  king- 
dom the  crops  would  probably  yield  70  per  cent  more  than 
the  average.  I  said  that  the  fame  of  the  king  had  reached 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  and  that  the  nations  gnashed 
their  teeth  when  they  heard  daily  of  the  glories  of  his  realm 
and  the  wisdom  of  his  moon-like  prime  minister  and  lotus- 
eyed  director-general  of  public  education. 

Then  we  sat  down  on  clean  white  cushions  and  I  was  at 
the  king's  right  hand.  Three  minutes  later  he  was  teUing 
me  that  the  condition  of  the  maize  crop  was  something  dis- 
graceful, and  that  the  railway  companies  would  not  pay  him 
enough  for  his  timber.  The  talk  shifted  to  and  fro  with  the 
bottles.  We  discussed  very  many  quaint  things,  and  the  king 
became  confidential  on  the  subject  of  government  generally. 
Most  of  all  he  dwelt  on  the  shortcomings  of  one  of  his  sub- 
jects, who,  from  what  I  could  gather,  had  been  paralyzing 
the  executive. 

"  In  the  old  days,"  said  the  king,  ''  I  could  have  ordered 
the  elephant  yonder  to  trample  him  to  death.  Now  I  must 
e'en  send  him  seventy  miles  across  the  hills  to  be  tried,  and 


24  JVAMGA  V  no  OLA. 

his  keep  for  that  time  would  be  upon  the  state.  And  the 
elephant  eats  everything." 

"What  be  the  man's  crimes,  Rajah  Sahib?"  said  I. 

"  Firstly,  he  is  an  '  outlander,'  and  no  man  of  mine  own 
people.  Secondly,  since  of  my  favor  I  gave  him  land  upon 
his  coming,  he  refuses  to  pay  revenue.  Am  I  not  the  lord 
of  the  earth,  above  and  below — entitled  by  right  and  custom 
to  one-eighth  of  the  crop?  Yet  this  devil,  establishing  him- 
self, refuses  to  pay  a  single  tax  .  .  .  and  he  brings  a  poison- 
ous spawn  of  babes." 

"Cast  him  into  jail,"  I  said. 

"Sahib,"  the  king  answered,  shifting  a  little  on  the  cush^ 
ions,  "  once  and  only  once  in  these  forty  years  sickness  came 
upon  me  so  that  I  was  not  able  to  go  abroad.  In  that  hour  I 
made  a  vow  to  my  God  that  I  would  never  again  cut  man  or 
woman  from  the  light  of  the  sun  and  the  air  of  God,  for  I 
perceived  the  nature  of  the  punishment.  How  can  I  break 
my  vow?  Were  it  only  the  lopping  off  of  a  hand  or  a  foot 
I  should  not  delay.  But  even  that  is  impossible  now  that 
the  Enghsh  have  rule.  One  or  another  of  my  people  " — he 
looked  obliquely  at  the  director-general  of  public  educa- 
tion— "  would  at  once  write  a  letter  to  the  viceroy  and  per- 
haps I  should  be  deprived  of  that  ruffle  of  drums." 

He  unscrewed  the  mouthpiece  of  his  silver  water-pipe, 
fitted  a  plain  amber  one,  and  passed  the  pipe  to  me.  "  Not 
content  with  refusing  revenue,"  he  continued,  "this  outlander 
refuses  also  the  beegar"  (this  is  the  corvee  or  forced  labor 
on  the  roads),  "  and  stirs  my  people  up  to  the  like  treason. 
Yet  he  is,  if  he  so  wills,  an  expert  log-snatcher.  There  is 
none  better  or  bolder  among  my  people  to  clear  a  block  of 
the  river  when  the  logs  stick  fast." 

"  But  he  worships  strange  gods,"  said  the  prime  minister, 
deferentially. 

"  For  that  I  have  no  concern,"  said  the  king,  who  was  as 


NAMGA  Y  DO  OLA.  25 

tolerant  as  Akbar  in  matters  of  belief.  "  To  each  man  his 
own  god,  and  the  fire  or  Mother  Earth  for  us  all  at  the  last. 
It  is  the  rebeUion  that  offends  me." 

"  The  king  has  an  army,"  I  suggested.  "  Has  not  the 
king  burned  the  man's  house  and  left  him  naked  to  the 
night  dews?  " 

"Nay.  A  hut  is  a  hut,  and  it  holds  the  life  of  a  man. 
But  once  I  sent  my  army  against  him  when  his  excuses  be- 
came wearisome.  Of  their  heads  he  brake  three  across  the 
top  with  a  stick.  The  other  two  men  ran  away.  Also  the 
guns  would  not  shoot." 

I  had  seen  the  equipment  of  the  infantry.  One-third  of  it 
was  an  old  muzzle-loading  fowHng-piece  with  ragged  rust 
holes  where  the  nipples  should  have  been;  one-third  a  wire- 
bound  matchlock  with  a  worm-eaten  stock,  and  one-third  a 
four-bore  flint  duck-gun,  without  a  flint. 

"  But  it  is  to  be  remembered,"  said  the  king,  reaching  out 
for  the  bottle,  "  that  he  is  a  very  expert  log-snatcher  and  a 
man  of  a  merry  face.     What  shall  I  do  to  him,  Sahib?  " 

This  was  interesting.  The  timid  hill-folk  would  as  soon 
have  refused  taxes  to  their  king  as  ofiferings  to  their  gods. 
The  rebel  must  be  a  man  of  character. 

*'  If  it  be  the  king's  permission,"  I  said,  "  I  will  not  strike 
my  tents  till  the  third  day  and  I  will  see  this  man.  The 
mercy  of  the  king  is  godlike,  and  rebellion  is  like  unto  the 
sin  of  witchcraft.  Moreover,  both  the  bottles,  and  another, 
be  empty." 

"  You  have  my  leave  to  go,"  said  the  king. 

Next  morning  a  crier  went  through  the  state  proclaiming 
that  there  was  a  log-jam  on  the  river  an('  that  it  behooved 
all  loyal  subjects  to  clear  it.  The  people  poured  down  from 
their  villages  to  the  moist,  warm  valley  of  poppy  fields,  and 
the  king  and  I  went  with  them. 

Hundreds  of  dressed  deodar  lotis  had  caught  on  a  snag  of 


26  NAMGA  V  DOOLA. 

rock,  and  the  river  was  bringing  down  more  logs  every  min- 
ute to  complete  the  blockade.  The  water  snarled  and 
wrenched  and  worried  at  the  timber,  while  the  population 
of  the  state  prodded  at  the  nearest  logs  with  poles  in  the 
hope  of  easing  the  pressure.  Then  there  went  up  a  shout 
of  "Namgay  Doola!  Namgay  Doola!  "  and  a  large,  red- 
haired  villager  hurried  up,  stripping  off  his  clothes  as  he  ran. 

"That  is  he.  That  is  the  rebel,"  said  the  king.  "Now 
will  the  dam  be  cleared." 

"  But  why  has  he  red  hair?  "  I  asked,  since  red  hair  among 
hill-folk  is  as  uncommon  as  blue  or  green. 

"He  is  an  outlander,"  said  the  king.  "Well  done!  Oh, 
well  done ! ' 

Namgay  Doola  had  scrambled  on  the  jam  and  was  claw- 
ing out  the  butt  of  a  log  with  a  rude  sort  of  a  boat  hook.  It 
slid  forward  slowly,  as  an  aligator  moves,  and  three  or  four 
others  followed  it  The  green  water  spou-ted  through  the 
gaps.  Then  the  villagers  howled  and  shouted  and  leaped 
among  the  logs,  pulling  and  pushing  the  obstinate  timber, 
and  the  red  head  of  Namgay  Doola  was  chief  among  them 
all.  The  logs  swayed  and  chafed  and  groaned  as  fresh 
consignments  from  up  stream  battered  the  now  weakening 
dam.  It  gave  way  at  last  in  a  smother  of  foam,  racing  buttSj 
bobbing  black  heads,  and  confusion  indescribable,  as  the 
river  tossed  everything  before  it.  I  saw  the  red  head  go 
down  with  the  last  remnants  of  the  jam  and  disappear  be- 
tween the  great  grinding  tree  trunks.  It  rose  close  to  the 
bank,  and  blowing  like  a  grampus,  Namgay  Doola  wiped  the 
water  out  of  his  eyes  and  made  obeisance  to  the  king. 

I  had  time  to  observe  the  man  closely.  The  virulent  red- 
ness of  his  shock  head  and  beard  was  most  startling,  and  in 
the  thicket  of  hair  twinkled  above  high  cheek-bones  two 
very  merry  blue  eyes.  He  was  indeed  an  outlander,  but  yet 
a  Thibetan  in  language,  habit,  and  attire.     He  spoke  the 


NAMGA  Y  DO  OLA.  27 

Lepcha  dialect  with  an  indescribable  softening  of  the  gut- 
turals.    It  was  not  so  much  a  lisp  as  an  accent. 

"Whence  comest  thou?"  I  asked,  wondering. 

"  From  Thibet."  He  pointed  across  the  hills  and  grinned. 
That  grin  went  straight  to  my  heart.  Mechanically  I  held 
out  my  hand,  and  Namgay  Doola  took  it.  No  pure  Thibetan 
would  have  understood  the  meaning  of  the  gesture.  He 
went  away  to  look  for  his  clothes,  and  as  he  climbed  back  to 
his  village  I  heard  a  joyous  yell  that  seemed  unaccountably 
famiUar.     It  was  the  whooping  of  Namgay  Doola. 

"  You  see  now,"  said  the  king,  "  why  I  would  not  kill  him. 
He  is  a  bold  man  among  my  logs,  but,"  and  he  shook  his 
head  like  a  schoolmaster,  "  I  know  that  before  long  there 
will  be  complaints  of  him  in  the  court.  Let  us  return  to 
the  palace  and  do  justice." 

It  was  that  king's  custom  to  judge  his  subjects  every  day 
between  11  and  3  o'clock.  I  heard  him  do  justice  equitably 
on  weighty  matters  of  trespass,  slander,  and  a  little  wife-steal- 
ing.    Then  his  brow  clouded  and  he  summoned  me. 

"Again  it  is  Namgay  Doola,"  he  said  despairingly.  "  Not 
content  with  refusing  revenue  on  his  own  part,  he  has  bound 
half  his  village  by  an  oath  to  the  like  treason.  Never  before 
has  such  a  thing  befallen  me!     Nor  are  my  taxes  heavy." 

A  rabbit-faced  villager,  with  a  blush-rose  stuck  behind  his 
ear,  advanced  trembling.  He  had  been  in  Namgay  Doola's 
conspiracy,  but  had  told  everything  and  hoped  for  the  king's 
favor. 

"  O  King!  "  said  I.  "  If  it  be  the  king's  will,  let  this  mat- 
ter stand  over  till  the  morning.  Only  the  gods  can  do  right 
in  a  hurry,  and  it  may  be  that  yonder  villager  has  lied." 

"  Nay,  for  I  know  the  nature  of  Namgay  Doola ;  but  since 
a  guest  asks,  let  the  matter  remain.  Wilt  thou,  for  my  sake, 
speak  harshly  to  this  red-headed  outlander.  He  may  listen 
to  thee." 


28  NAMGA  Y  DOOLA. 

I  made  an  attempt  that  very  evening,  but  for  the  life  of 
me  I  could  not  keep  my  countenance.  Namgay  Doola 
grinned  so  persuasively  and  began  to  tell  me  about  a  big 
brown  bear  in  a  poppy  field  by  the  river.  Would  I  care 
to  shoot  that  bear?  I  spoke  austerely  on  the  sin  of  de- 
tected conspiracy  and  the  certainty  of  punishment.  Nam- 
gay Doola's  face  clouded  for  a  moment.  Shortly  afterward 
he  withdrew  from  my  tent,  and  I  heard  him  singing  softly 
among  the  pines.  The  words  were  unintelligible  to  me,  but 
the  tune,  Hke  his  Hquid,  insinuating  speech,  seemed  the 
ghost  of  something  strangely  familiar. 

Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 

To  weeree  ala  gee, 

crooned  Namgay  Doola  again  and  again,  and  I  racked  my 
brain  for  that  lost  tune.  It  was  not  till  after  dinner  that  I 
discovered  some  one  had  cut  a  square  foot  of  velvet  from 
the  centre  of  my  best  camera-cloth.  This  made  me  so 
angry  that  I  wandered  down  the  valley  in  the  hope  of  meet- 
ing the  big  brown  bear.  I  could  hear  him  grunting  like  a 
discontented  pig  in  the  poppy  field  as  I  waited  shoulder  deep 
in  the  dew-dripping  Indian  corn  to  catch  him  after  his  meal. 
The  moon  was  at  full  and  drew  out  the  scent  of  the  tasselled 
crop.  Then  I  heard  the  anguished  bellow  of  a  Himalayan 
cow — one  of  the  little  black  crummies  no  bigger  than  New- 
foundland dogs.  Two  shadows  that  looked  like  a  bear  and 
her  cub  hurried  past  me.  I  was  in  the  act  of  firing  when  I 
saw  that  each  bore  a  brilliant  red  head.  The  lesser  animal 
was  trailing  something  rope-like  that  left  a  dark  track  on  the 
path.  They  were  within  six  feet  of  me  and  the  shadow  of 
the  moonlight  lay  velvet-black  on  their  faces.  Velvet-black 
was  exactly  the  word,  for  by  all  the  powers  of  moonHght  they 
were  masked  in  the  velvet  of  my  camera-cloth.  I  marvelled 
and  went  to  bed. 

Next  morning  the  kingdom  was  in  uproar.    Namgay  Doola, 


xVAMGA  V  xJUULA.  29 

men  said,  had  gone  forth  in  the  night  and  with  a  sharp  knife 
had  cut  off  the  tail  of  a  cow  belonging  to  the  rabbit-faced 
villager  who  had  betrayed  him.  It  was  sacrilege  unspeak- 
able against  the  holy  cow!  The  state  desired  his  blood, 
but  he  had  retreated  into  his  hut,  barricaded  the  doors  and 
windows  with  big  stones,  and  defied  the  world. 

The  king  and  I  and  the  populace  approached  the  hut  cau- 
tiously. There  was  no  hope  of  capturing  our  man  without 
loss  of  life,  for  from  a  hole  in  the  wall  projected  the  muzzle 
of  an  extremely  well-cared-for  gun — the  only  gun  in  the 
state  that  could  shoot.  Namgay  Doola  had  narrowly  missed 
a  villager  just  before  we  came  up. 

The  standing  army  stood. 

It  could  do  no  more,  for  when  it  advanced  pieces  of  sharp 
shale  flew  from  the  windows.  To  these  were  added  from 
time  to  time  showers  of  scalding  water.  We  saw  red  heads 
bobbing  up  and  down  within.  The  family  of  Namgay  Noola 
were  aiding  their  sire.  Blood-curdling  yells  of  defiance  were 
the  only  answer  to  our  prayers. 

"  Never,"  said  the  king,  puffing,  "  has  such  a  thing  befallen 
my  state.  Next  year  I  will  certainly  buy  a  little  cannon." 
He  looked  at  me  imploringly. 

"  Is  there  any  priest  in  the  kingdom  to  whom  he  will 
listen?  "  said  I,  for  a  light  was  beginning  to  break  upon  me. 

"  He  worships  his  own  God,"  said  the  prime  minister. 
"  We  can  but  starve  him  out." 

"  Let  the  white  man  approach,"  said  Namgay  Doola  from 
within.     "All  others  I  will  kill.     Send  me  the  white  man." 

The  door  was  thrown  open  and  I  entered  the  smoky  in- 
terior of  a  Thibetan  hut  crammed  with  children.  And  every 
child  had  flaming  red  hair.  A  fresh-gathered  cow's  tail  lay 
on  the  floor,  and  by  its  side  two  pieces  of  black  velvet — my 
black  velvet— rudely  hacked  into  the  semblance  of  masks. 

"And  what  is  this  shame,  Namgay  Doola?"  I  asked. 


30  NAMGA  Y  DO  OLA. 

He  grinned  more  charmingly  than  ever.  "  There  is  no 
shame,"  said  he.  "  I  did  but  cut  off  the  tail  of  that  man's 
cow.  He  betrayed  me.  I  was  minded  to  shoot  him,  Sahib, 
but  not  to  death.     Indeed,  not  to  death ;  only  in  the  legs." 

"  And  why  at  all,  since  it  is  the  custom  to  pay  revenue  to 
the  king?     Why  at  all?" 

"  By  the  God  of  my  father,  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Namgay 
Doola. 

"  And  who  was  thy  father?  " 

"  The  same  that  had  this  gun."  He  showed  me  his  weapon, 
a  Tower  musket  bearing  date  1832  and  the  stamp  of  the 
Honorable  East  India  Company. 

"And  thy  father's  name?"  said  I. 

"  Timlay  Doola,"  said  he.  "  At  the  first,  I  being  then  a 
little  child,  it  is  in  my  mind  that  he  wore  a  red  coat." 

"Of  that  I  have  no  doubt;  but  repeat  the  name  of  thy 
father  twice  or  thrice." 

He  obeyed,  and  I  understood  whence  the  puzzling  accent 
in  his  speech  came.  "Thimla  Dhula!"  said  he  excitedly, 
"  To  this  hour  I  worship  his  God." 

"May  I  see  that  God?" 

"  In  a  little  while— at  twilight  time." 

"Rememberest  thou  aught  of  thy  father's  speech?" 

"  It  is  long  ago.  But  there  was  one  word  which  he  said 
often.  Thus,  "Shun!'  Then  I  and  my  brethren  stood 
upon  our  feet,  our  hands  to  our  sides,  thus." 

"  Even  so.     And  what  was  thy  mother?  " 

"A  woman  of  the  hills.  We  be  Lepchas  of  Darjiling,  but 
me  they  call  an  outlander  because  my  hair  is  as  thou  seest." 

The  Thibetan  woman,  his  wife,  touched  him  on  the  arm 
gently.  The  long  parley  outside  the  fort  had  lasted  far  into 
the  day.  It  was  now  close  upon  twilight — the  hour  of  the 
Angelus.  Very  solemnly  the  red-headed  brats  rose  from  the 
floor  and  formed  a  semicircle.     Namgay  Doola  laid  his  gun 


KAMCA  V  DOOLA.  3 1 

asice,  l^ghtc.i  a  little  oil-lamp,  and  set  it  before  a  recess  in 
the  wall.  Pulling  back  a  wisp  of  dirty  cloth,  he  revealed  a 
worn  brass  crucifix  leaning  against  the  helmet  badge  of  a 
long-forgotten  East  India  Company's  regiment.  "  Thus  did 
my  father,"  he  said,  crossing  himself  clumsily.  The  wife 
and  children  followed  suit.  Then,  all  together,  they  struck 
up  the  wailing  chant  that  I  heard  on  the  hillside: 

Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 

To  weeree  al  a  gee. 

I  was  puzzled  no  longer.  Again  and  again  they  sang,  as 
if  their  hearts  would  break,  their  version  of  the  chorus  of 
"  The  Wearing  of  the  Green:  " 

They're  hanging  men  and  women,  too, 
For  the  wearing  of  the  green. 

A  diabolical  inspiration  came  to  me.  One  of  the  brats, 
a  boy  about  eight  years  old — could  he  have  been  in  the  fields 
last  night? — was  watching  me  as  he  sang.  I  pulled  out  a 
rupee,  held  the  coin  between  finger  and  thumb,  and  looked 
— only  looked — at  the  gun  leaning  against  the  wall.  A  grin 
of  brilliant  and  perfect  comprehension  overspread  his  por- 
ringer-like face.  Never  for  an  instant  stopping  the  song,  he 
held  out  his  hand  for  the  money  and  then  slid  the  gun  to 
my  hand.  I  might  have  shot  Namgay  Doola  dead  as  he 
chanted,  but  I  was  satisfied.  The  inevitable  blood-instinct 
held  true.  Namgay  Doola  drew  the  curtain  across  the  re- 
cess.    Angelus  was  over. 

"  Thus  my  father  sang.  There  was  much  more,  but  I  have 
forgotten,  and  I  do  not  know  the  purport  of  even  these  words, 
but  it  may  be  that  the  god  will  understand.  I  am  not  of 
this  people  and  I  will  not  pay  revenue." 

•'And  why?" 

Again  that  soul-compelling  grin.  "  What  occupation 
would  be  to  me  between  crop  and  crop?  It  is  better  than 
scaring  bears.     But  these  people  do  not  understand." 


32  NAMGAY  DOOLA. 

He  picked  the  masks  off  the  floor  and  looked  in  my  face 
as  simply  as  a  child. 

"  By  what  road  didst  thou  attain  knowledge  to  make  those 
deviltries?"  I  said,  pointing. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  am  but  a  Lepcha  of  DarjiHng,  and  yet 
the  stuff " 

"  Which  thou  hast  stolen,"  said  I. 

"Nay,  surely.  Did  I  steal?  I  desired  it  so.  The  stuff — 
the  stuff.  What  else  should  I  have  done  with  the  stuff?  " 
He  twisted  the  velvet  between  his  fingers. 

"  But  the  sin  of  maiming  the  cow — consider  that." 

"O  Sahib,  the  man  betrayed  me;  the  heifer's  tail  waved  in 
the  moonlight,  and  I  had  my  knife.  What  else  should  I 
have  done?  The  tail  came  off  ere  I  was  aware.  Sahib, 
thou  knowest  more  than  I." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  I.  "  Stay  within  the  door.  I  go  to 
speak  to  the  king."  The  population  of  the  state  were  ranged 
on  the  hillside.     I  went  forth  and  spoke. 

"  O  King,"  said  I,  "  touching  this  man  there  be  two  courses 
open  to  thy  wisdom.  Thou  canst  either  hang  him  from  a 
tree — he  and  his  brood — till  there  remains  no  hair  that  is  red 
within  thy  land." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  king.  "  Why  should  I  hurt  the  little  chil- 
dren?" 

They  had  poured  out  of  the  hut  and  were  making  plump 
obeisances  to  everybody.  Namgay  Doola  waited  at  the  door 
with  his  gun  across  his  arm. 

"  Or  thou  canst,  discarding  their  impiety  of  the  cow-maim- 
ing, raise  him  to  honor  in  thy  army.  He  comes  of  a  race 
that  will  not  pay  revenue:  A  red  flame  is  in  his  blood  which 
comes  out  at  the  top  of  his  head  in  that  glowing  hair.  Make 
him  chief  of  thy  army.  Give  him  honor  as  may  befall  and 
full  allowance  of  work,  but  look  to  it,  O  King,  that  neither 
he  nor  his  hold   a  foot   of   earth   from  thee  henceforward. 


NAMGA  Y  DOOLa.  t,t, 

Feed  him  with  words  and  favor  and  also  Hquor  from  certain 
bottles  that  thou  knowest  of,  and  he  will  be  a  bulwark  of  de- 
fence.    But  deny  him   even  a  tuftlet  of  grass  for  his  own 
This  is  the  nature  that  God  has  given  him.     Moreover  he 
has  brethren " 

The  state  groaned  unanimously. 

"  But  if  his  brethren  come  they  will  surely  fight  with  each 
other  till  they  die;  or  else  the  one  will  always  give  informa- 
tion concerning  the  other.  Shall  he  be  of  thy  army,  O  King? 
Choose." 

The  king  bowed  his  head,  and  I  said:  "Come  forth, 
Namgay  Doola,  and  command  the  king's  army.  Thy  name 
shall  no  more  be  Namgay  in  the  mouths  of  men,  but  Patsay 
Doola,  for,  as  thou  hast  truly  said,  I  know." 

Then  Namgay  Doola,  new-christened  Patsay  Doola,  son 
of  Timlay  Doola — which  is  Tim  Doolan — clasped  the  king's 
feet,  cuffed  the  standing  army,  and  hurried  in  an  agony  of 
contrition  from  temple  to  temple  making  offerings  for  the 
sin  of  the  cattle-maiming. 

And  the  king  was  so  pleased  with  my  perspicacity  that  he 
offered  to  sell  me  a  village  for  ;£'2o  sterling.  But  I  buy  no 
villages  in  the  Himalayas  so  long  as  one  red  head  flares 
between  the  tail  of  the  heaven-climbing  glacier  and  the  dark 
birch  forest. 

I  know  that  breed. 
3 


THE    RECRUDESCENCE   OF 
IMRAY. 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  IMRAY. 


Imray  had  achieved  the  impossible.  Without  warning,  foi 
no  conceivable  motive,  in  his  youth  and  at  the  threshold  of  his 
career  he  had  chosen  to  disappear  from  the  world — which  is 
to  say,  the  little  Indian  station  where  he  lived.  Upon  a  day 
he  was  alive,  well,  happy,  and  in  great  evidence  at  his  club, 
among  the  billiard  tables.  Upon  a  morning  he  was  not,  and 
no  manner  of  search  could  make  sure  where  he  might  be. 
He  had  stepped  out  of  his  place;  he  had  not  appeared  at 
his  office  at  the  proper  time,  and  his  dog-cart  was  not  upon 
the  public  roads.  For  these  reasons  and  because  he  was 
hampering  in  a  microscopical  degree  the  administration  of 
the  Indian  Empire,  the  Indian  Empire  paused  for  one  mi- 
croscopical moment  to  make  inquiry  into  the  fate  of  Imray, 
Ponds  were  dragged,  wells  were  plumbed,  telegrams  were 
dispatched  down  the  lines  of  railways  and  to  the  nearest  sea- 
port town — 1,200  miles  away — but  Imray  was  not  at  the  end 
of  the  drag-ropes  nor  the  telegrams.  He  was  gone,  and  his 
place  knew  him  no  more.  Then  the  work  of  the  great 
Indian  Empire  swept  forward,  because  it  could  not  be  de- 
layed, and  Imray,  from  being  a  man,  became  a  mystery — such 
a  thing  as  men  talk  over  at  their  tables  in  the  club  for  a 
month  and  then  forget  utterly.  His  guns,  horses,  and  carts 
were  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  His  superior  officer  wrote 
an  absurd  letter  to  his  mother,  saying  that  Imray  had  unac- 
countably disappeared  and  his  bungalow  stood  empty  on  the 
road. 


3S  THE   RECRUDESCENCE   OF  IMRAY. 

After  three  or  four  months  of  the  scorching  hot  weather 
had  gone  by,  my  friend  Strickland,  of  the  police  force,  saw  fit 
to  rent  the  bungalow  from  the  native  landlord.  This  was 
before  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Youghai — an  affair  which  has 
been  described  in  another  place — and  while  he  was  pursuing 
his  investigations  into  native  life.  His  own  hfe  was  suffi- 
ciently peculiar  and  men  complained  of  his  manners  and 
customs.  There  was  always  food  in  his  house,  but  there 
were  no  regular  times  for  meals.  He  ate,  standing  up  and 
walking  about,  whatever  he  might  find  in  the  sideboard,  and 
this  is  not  good  for  the  insides  of  human  beings.  His 
domestic  equipment  was  limited  to  six  rifles,  three  shot-guns, 
five  saddles,  and  a  collection  of  stiff-jointed  masheer  rods, 
bigger  and  stronger  than  the  largest  salmon  rods.  These 
things  occupied  one-half  of  his  bungalow,  and  the  other  half 
was  given  up  to  Strickland  and  his  dog  Tietjens — an  enor- 
mous Rampur  slut,  who  sang  when  she  was  ordered  and  de- 
voured daily  the  rations  of  two  men.  She  spoke  to  Strick- 
land in  a  language  of  her  own,  and  whenever  in  her  walks 
abroad  she  saw  things  calculated  to  destroy  the  peace  of  Her 
Majesty  the  Queen  Empress,  she  returned  to  her  master  and 
gave  him  information.  Strickland  would  take  steps  at  once, 
and  the  end  of  his  labors  was  trouble  and  fine  and  imprison- 
ment for  other  people.  The  natives  believed  that  Tietjens 
was  a  familiar  spirit,  and  treated  her  with  the  great  reverence 
that  is  born  of  hate  and  fear.  One  room  in  the  bungalow 
was  set  apart  for  her  special  use.  She  owned  a  bedstead,  a 
blanket,  and  a  drinking-trough,  and  if  any  one  came  into 
Strickland's  room  at  night,  her  custom  was  to  knock  down 
the  invader  and  give  tongue  till  some  one  came  with  a  light. 
Strickland  owes  his  life  to  her.  When  he  was  on  the  frontier 
in  search  of  the  local  murderer  who  came  in  the  gray  dawn 
to  send  Strickland  much  further  than  the  Andaman  Islands, 
Tietjens  caught  him  as  he  was  crawHng  into  Strickland's  tent 


THE   RECRUDESCENCE   OF  IMRAY.  39 

with  a  dagger  between  his  teeth,  and  after  his  record  of  in- 
iquity was  estabhshed  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  he  was  hanged. 
From  that  date  Tietjens  wore  a  collar  of  rough  silver  and 
employed  a  monogram  on  her  night  blanket,  and  the  blanket 
was  of  double-woven  Kashmir  cloth,  for  she  was  a  delicate 
dog. 

Under  no  circumstances  would  she  be  separated  from 
Strickland,  and  when  he  was  ill  with  fever  she  made  great 
trouble  for  the  doctors  because  she  did  not  know  how  to 
help  her  master  and  would  not  allow  another  creature  to 
attempt  aid.  Macarnaght,  of  the  Indian  Medical  Service, 
beat  her  over  the  head  with  a  gun,  before  she  could  under- 
stand that  she  must  give  room  for  those  who  could  give 
quinine. 

A  short  time  after  Strickland  had  taken  Imray's  bungalow, 
my  business  took  me  through  that  station,  and  naturally,  the 
club  quarters  being  full,  I  quartered  myself  upon  Strickland. 
It  was  a  desirable  bungalow,  eight-roomed  and  heavily 
thatched  against  any  chance  of  leakage  from  rain.  Under 
the  pitch  of  the  roof  ran  a  ceiling  cloth,  which  looked  just  as 
nice  as  a  whitewashed  ceihng.  The  landlord  had  repainted 
it  when  Strickland  took  the  bungalow,  and  unless  you  knew 
how  Indian  bungalows  were  built  you  would  never  have  sus- 
pected that  above  the  cloth  lay  the  dark,  three-cornered 
cavern  of  the  roof,  where  the  beams  and  the  under  side  of 
the  thatch  harbored  all  manner  of  rats,  bats,  ants,  and  other 
things. 

Tietjens  met  me  in  the  veranda  with  a  bay  like  the  boom 
of  the  bells  of  St.  Paul's,  and  put  her  paws  on  my  shoulder 
and  said  she  was  glad  to  see  me.  Strickland  had  contrived 
to  put  together  that  sort  of  meal  which  he  called  lunch,  and 
immediately  after  it  was  finished  went  out  about  his  business. 
I  was  left  alone  with  Tietjens  and  my  own  affairs.  The  heat 
of  the  summer  had  broken  up  and  given  place  to  the  warm 


40  THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  J  MR  A  Y, 

damp  of  the  rains.  There  was  no  motion  in  the  heated  air, 
but  the  rain  fell  like  bayonet  rods  on  the  earth,  and  flung  up 
a  blue  mist  where  it  splashed  back  again.  The  bamboos 
and  the  custard  apples,  the  poinsettias  and  the  mango  trees 
in  the  garden  stood  still  while  the  warm  water  lashed  through 
them,  and  the  frogs  began  to  sing  among  the  aloe  hedges. 
A  httle  before  the  light  failed,  and  when  the  rain  was  at  its 
worst,  I  sat  in  the  back  veranda  and  heard  the  water  roar 
from  the  eaves,  and  scratched  myself  because  I  was  covered 
with  the  thing  they  called  prickly  heat.  Tietjens  came  out 
with  me  and  put  her  head  in  my  lap  and  was  very  sorrowful, 
so  I  gave  her  biscuits  when  tea  was  ready,  and  I  took  tea  in 
the  back  veranda  on  account  of  the  little  coolness  T  found 
there.  The  rooms  of  the  house  were  dark  behind  me.  I 
could  smell  Strickland's  saddlery  and  the  oil  on  his  guns,  and 
I  did  not  the  least  desire  to  sit  among  these  things.  My  own 
servant  came  to  me  in  the  twilight,  the  muslin  of  his  clothes 
clinging  tightly  to  his  drenched  body,  and  told  me  that  a 
gentleman  had  called  and  wished  to  see  some  one.  Very 
much  against  my  will  and  because  of  the  darkness  of  the 
rooms,  I  went  into  the  naked  drawing-room,  telling  my  man 
to  bring  the  hghts.  There  might  or  might  not  have  been  a 
caller  in  the  room — it  seems  to  me  that  I  saw  a  figure  by 
one  of  the  windows,  but  when  the  hghts  came  there  was 
nothing  sav^j  the  spikes  of  the  rain  without  and  the  smell 
of  the  drinking  earth  in  my  nostrils.  I  explained  to  my  man 
that  he  was  no  wiser  than  he  ought  to  be  and  went  back  to 
the  veranda  to  talk  to  Tietjens.  She  had  gone  out  into  the 
wet  and  I  could  hardly  coax  her  back  to  me — even  with  bis- 
cuits with  sugar  on  top.  Strickland  rode  back,  dripping  wet, 
just  before  dinner,  and  the  first  thing  he  said  was : 

"  Has  any  one  called?  " 

I  explained,  with  apologies,  that  my  servant  had  called 
me  into  the  drawing-room  on  a  false  alarm ;  or  that  some 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  IMKAY.  41 

loafer  had  tried  to  call  on  Strickland,  and,  thinking  better  of 
it,  had  fled  after  giving  his  name.  Strickland  ordered  dinner 
without  comment,  and  since  it  was  a  real  dinner,  with  a  white 
table-cloth  attached,  we  sat  down. 

At  9  o'clock  Strickland  wanted  to  go  to  bed  and  I  was 
tired,  too.  Tietjens,  who  had  been  lying  underneath  the 
table,  rose  up  and  went  into  the  least-exposed  veranda  as 
soon  as  her  master  moved  to  his  own  room,  which  was  next 
to  the  stately  chamber  set  apart  for  Tietjens.  If  a  mere 
wife  had  wished  to  sleep  out  of  doors  in  that  pelting  rain  it 
would  not  have  mattered,  but  Tietjens  was  a  dog  and  there- 
fore the  better  animal.  I  looked  at  Strickland,  expecting  to 
see  him  flog  her  with  a  whip.  He  smiled  queerly,  as  a  man 
would  smile  after  telling  some  hideous  domestic  tragedy. 
"  She  has  done  this  ever  since  I  moved  in  here." 

The  dog  was  Strickland's  dog,  so  I  said  nothing,  but  I  felt 
all  that  Strickland  felt  in  being  made  light  of.  Tietjens  en- 
camped outside  my  bedroom  window,  and  storm  after  storm 
came  up,  thundered  on  the  thatch,  and  died  away.  The 
lightning  spattered  the  sky  as  a  thrown  egg  spatters  a  barn 
door,  but  the  light  was  pale  blue,  not  yellow,  and  looking 
through  my  slit  bamboo  blinds  I  could  see  the  great  dog 
standing,  not  sleeping,  in  the  veranda,  the  hackles  alift  on 
her  back  and  her  feet  planted  as  tensely  as  the  drawn  wire 
rope  of  a  suspension  bridge.  In  the  very  short  pauses  of  the 
thunder  I  tried  to  sleep,  but  it  seemed  that  some  one  wanted 
me  very  badly.  He,  whoever  he  was,  was  trying  to  call  me  by 
name,  but  his  voice  was  no  more  than  a  husky  whisper. 
Then  the  thunder  ceased  and  Tietjens  went  into  the  garden 
and  howled  at  the  low  moon.  Somebody  tried  to  open  my 
door,  and  walked  about  and  through  the  house  and  stood 
breathing  heavily  in  the  verandas,  and  just  when  I  was  falling 
asleep  I  fancied  that  I  heard  a  wild  hammering  and  clamor- 
ing above  my  head  or  on  the  door. 


42  THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  I  MR  AY, 

I  ran  into  Strickland's  room  and  asked  him  whether  he 
was  ill  and  had  been  calling  for  me.  He  was  lying  on  the 
bed  half-dressed  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  "  I  thought  you'd 
come,"  he  said.  "  Have  I  been  walking  around  the  house 
at  all?" 

I  explained  that  he  had  been  in  the  dining-room  and  the 
smoking-room  and  two  or  three  other  places ;  and  he  laughed 
and  told  me  to  go  back  to  bed.  I  went  back  to  bed  and 
slept  till  the  morning,  but  in  all  my  dreams  I  was  sure  I  was 
doing  some  one  an  injustice  in  not  attending  to  his  wants. 
What  those  wants  were  I  could  not  tell,  but  a  fluttering, 
whispering,  bolt-fumbling,  luring,  loitering  some  one  was 
reproaching  me  for  my  slackness,  and  through  all  the  dreams 
I  heard  the  howling  of  Tietjens  in  the  garden  and  the  thrash- 
ing of  the  rain. 

I  was  in  that  house  for  two  days  and  Strickland  went  to  his 
office  daily,  leaving  me  alone  for  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day 
with  Tietjens  for  my  only  companion.  As  long  as  the  full 
light  lasted  I  was  comfortable  and  so  was  Tietjens,  but  in 
the  twilight  she  and  I  moved  into  the  back  veranda  and 
cuddled  each  other  for  company.  We  were  alone  in  the 
house,  but  for  all  that  it  was  too  fully  occupied  by  a  tenant 
with  whom  I  had  no  desire  to  interfere.  I  never  saw  him, 
but  I  could  see  the  curtains  between  the  rooms  quivering 
where  he  had  just  passed  through;  I  could  hear  the  chairs 
creaking  as  the  bamboos  sprung  under  a  weight  that  had 
just  quitted  it ;  and  I  could  feel  when  I  went  to  get  a  book 
from  the  dining-room  that  somebody  was  waiting  in  the 
shadows  of  the  front  veranda  till  I  should  have  gone  away. 
Tietjens  made  the  twilight  more  interesting  by  glaring  into 
the  darkened  rooms  with  every  hair  erect,  and  following  the 
motions  of  something  that  I  could  not  see.  She  never  en- 
tered the  rooms,  but  her  eyes  moved,  and  that  was  quite 
sufficient.     Only  when  my  servant  came  to  trim  the  lamps 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  IMRAY.  43 

and  make  all  light  and  habitable  she  would  come  in  with  me 
and  spend  her  time  sitting  on  her  haunches  watching  an  in- 
visible extra  man  as  he  moved  about  behind  my  shoulder. 
Dogs  are  cheerful  companions. 

I  explained  to  Strickland,  gently  as  might  be,  that  I  would 
go  over  to  the  club  and  find  for  myself  quarters  there.  I 
admired  his  hospitaUty,  was  pleased  with  his  guns  and  rods, 
but  I  did  not  much  care  for  his  house  and  its  atmosphere. 
He  heard  me  out  to  the  end,  and  then  smiled  very  wearily, 
but  without  contempt,  for  he  is  a  man  who  understands 
things.  "  Stay  on,"  he  said,  "  and  see  what  this  thing  means. 
All  you  have  talked  about  I  have  known  since  I  took  the 
bungalow.  Stay  on  and  wait.  Tietjens  has  left  me.  Are 
you  going  too?  " 

I  had  seen  him  through  one  little  affair  connected  with  an 
idol  that  had  brought  me  to  the  doors  of  a  lunatic  asylum, 
and  I  had  no  desire  to  help  him  through  further  experiences. 
He  was  a  man  to  whom  unpleasantnesses  arrived  as  do  din- 
ners to  ordinary  people. 

Therefore  I  explained  more  clearly  than  ever  that  I  liked 
him  immensely  and  would  be  happy  to  see  him  in  the  day- 
time ;  but  that  I  didn't  care  to  sleep  under  his  roof.  This 
was  after  dinner,  when  Tietjens  had  gone  out  to  lie  in  the 
veranda. 

"Ton  my  soul,  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Strickland,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ceiling  cloth.     "  Look  at  that!  " 

The  tails  of  two  snakes  were  hanging  between  the  cloth 
and  the  cornice  of  the  wall.     They  threw  long  shadows  in 

the  lamplight.     "  If  you  are  afraid  of  snakes,  of  course " 

said  Strickland.  "  I  hate  and  fear  snakes,  because  if  you 
look  into  tlie  eyes  of  any  snake  you  will  see  that  it  knows  all 
and  more  of  man's  fall,  and  that  it  feels  all  the  contempt  that 
the  devil  felt  when  Adam  was  evicted  from  Eden.  Besides 
which  its  bite  is  generally  fatal,  and  it  bursts  up  trouser  legs." 


44  '^HE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  IMRA  Y, 

"You  ought  to  get  your  thatch  overhauled,"  I  said 
"  Give  me  a  masheer  rod  and  we'll  poke  'em  down." 

"They'll  hide  among  the  roof  beams,"  said  Strickland. 
"  I  can't  stand  snakes  overhead.  I'm  going  up.  If  I  shake 
'em  down,  stand  by  with  a  cleaning  rod  and  break  their 
backs." 

I  was  not  anxious  to  assist  Strickland  in  his  work,  but  I 
took  the  loading  rod  and  waited  in  the  dining-room,  while 
Strickland  brought  a  gardener's  ladder  from  the  veranda  and 
set  ii;  against  the  side  of  the  room.  The  snake  tails  drew 
themselves  up  and  disappeared.  We  could  hear  the  dry 
rushing  scuttle  of  long  bodies  running  over  the  baggy  cloth. 
Strickland  took  a  lamp  with  him,  while  I  tried  to  make  clear 
the  danger  of  hunting  roof  snakes  between  a  ceiling  cloth 
and  a  thatch,  apart  from  the  deterioration  of  property  caused 
by  ripping  out  ceiling  cloths. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Strickland.  '  They're  sure  to  hide  near 
the  walls  by  the  cloth.  The  bricks  are  too  cold  for  'em, 
and  the  heat  of  the  room  is  just  what  they  like."  He  put 
his  hand  to  the  corner  of  the  cloth  and  ripped  the  rotten 
stuff  from  the  cornice.  It  gave  a  great  sound  of  tearing,  and 
Strickland  put  his  head  through  the  opening  into  the  dark  of 
the  angle  of  the  roof  beams.  I  set  my  teeth  and  lifted  the 
loading  rod,  for  I  had  not  the  least  knowledge  of  what  might 
descend. 

"  H'm,"  said  Strickland,  and  his  voice  rolled  and  rumbled 
in  the  roof.  "There's  room  for  another  set  of  rooms  up 
here,  and,  by  Jove!  some  one  is  occupying  'em." 

"  Snakes?  "   I  said  down  below. 

"No.  It's  a  buffalo.  Hand  me  up  the  two  first  joints  of 
a  masheer  rod  and  I'll  prod  it.  It's  lying  on  the  main 
beam." 

I  handed  up  the  rod. 

"  What   a  nest  for   owls   and   serpents.     No  wonder    the 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  I  MR  AY.  45 

snakes  live  here,"  said  Strickland,  climbing  further  into  the 
roof.  I  could  see  his  elbow  thrustincj  with  the  rod.  "Come 
out  of  that,  whoever  you  are!  Look  out!  Heads  below 
there!     It's  tottering." 

I  saw  the  ceiling  cloth  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
bag  with  a  shape  that  was  pressing  it  downward  and  down- 
ward toward  the  lighted  lamps  on  the  table.  I  snatched  a 
lamp  out  of  danger  and  stood  back.  Then  the  cloth  ripped 
out  from  the  walls,  tore,  split,  swayed,  and  shot  down  upon 
the  table  something  that  I  dared  not  look  at  till  Strickland 
had  slid  down  the  ladder  and  was  standing  by  my  side. 

He  did  not  say  much,  being  a  man  of  few  words,  but  he 
picked  up  the  loose  end  of  the  table  cloth  and  threw  it  over 
the  thing  on  the  table. 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  he,  pulling  down  the  lamp,  "our 
friend  Imray  has  come  back.  Oh!  you  would,  would 
you?" 

There  was  a  movement  under  the  cloth,  and  a  little  snake 
wriggled  out,  to  be  back-broken  by  the  butt  of  the  masheer 
rod.  I  was  sufficiently  sick  to  make  no  remarks  worth  re- 
cording. 

Strickland  meditated  and  helped  himself  to  drinks  liberally. 
The  thing  under  the  cloth  made  no  more  signs  of  life. 

"Is  it  Imray?"   I  said. 

Strickland  turned  back  the  cloth  for  a  moment  and  looked. 

"  It  is  Imray,"  he  said,  "  and  his  throat  is  cut  from  ear  to 
ear." 

Then  we  spoke  both  together  and  to  ourselves,  "  That's 
why  he  whispered  about  the  house." 

Tietjens  in  the  garden  began  to  bay  furiously.  A  little 
later  her  great  nose  heaved  open  the  dining-room  door. 

She  snuffed  and  was  still.  The  broken  and  tattered  ceil- 
ing cloth  hung  down  almost  to  the  level  of  the  table,  and 
there  was  hardlv  room  to  move  away  from  the  discovery 


4^  THE  RECRUDESCENCE   OF  I  MR  A  V. 

Then  Tietjens  came  in  and  sat  down;  her  teeth  bared 
and  her  forepaws  planted.     She  looked  at  Strickland. 

"  It's  a  bad  business,  old  lady,"  said  he.  *'  Men  don't  go 
up  into  the  roofs  of  their  bungalows  to  die,  and  they  don't 
fasten  up  the  ceiling  cloth  behind  'em.     Let's  think  it  out." 

"Let's  think  it  out  somewhere  else,"  I  said. 

"Excellent  idea!  Turn  the  lamps  out.  We'll  get  into 
my  room." 

I  did  not  tui-n  the  lamps  out.  I  went  into  Strickland's 
room  first  and  allowed  him  to  make  the  darkness.  Then  he 
followed  me  and  we  lit  tobacco  and  thought.  Strickland  did 
the  thinking.     I  smoked  furiously  because  I  was  afraid. 

"  Imray  is  back,"  said  Strickland.  "  The  question  is,  who 
killed  Imray?  Don't  talk — I  have  a  notion  of  my  own. 
When  I  took  this  bungalow  I  took  most  of  Imray's  servants. 
Imray  was  guileless  and  inoffensive,  wasn't  he?  " 

I  agreed,  though  the  heap  under  the  cloth  looked  neither 
one  thing  nor  the  other. 

"  If  I  call  all  the  servants  they  will  stand  fast  in  a  crowd 
and  lie  like  Aryans.     What  do  you  suggest?  " 

"  Call  'em  in  one  by  one,"  I  said. 

"  They'll  run  away  and  give  the  news  to  all  their  fellows," 
said  Strickland. 

"We  must  segregate  'em.  Do  you  suppose  your  servant 
knows  anything  about  it?  " 

"  He  may,  for  aught  I  know,  but  I  don't  think  it's  Hkely. 
He  has  only  been  here  two  or  three  days." 

"What's  your  notion?  "   I  asked. 

"  I  can't  quite  tell.  How  the  dickens  did  the  man  get  the 
wrong  side  of  the  ceiling  cloth?  " 

There  was  a  heavy  coughing  outside  Strickland's  bedroom 
door.  This  showed  that  Bahadur  Khan,  his  body  servant, 
had  waked  from  sleep  and  wished  to  put  Strickland  to 
bed. 


THE   RECRUDESCENCE    OF  IMRAY.  47 

"  Come  in,"  said  Strickland.  "  It  is  a  very  warm  night, 
isn't  it?" 

Bahadur  Khan,  a  great  green-turbaned,  six-foot  Moham- 
medan, said  that  it  was  a  very  warm  night,  but  that  there 
was  more  rain  pending,  which  by  his  honor's  favor  would 
bring  relief  to  the  country. 

"  It  will  be  so,  if  God  pleases,"  said  Strickland,  tugging 
off  his  boots.  "  It  is  in  my  mind,  Bahadur  Khan,  that  I  have 
worked  thee  remorselessly  for  many  days — ever  since  that 
time  when  thou  first  camest  into  my  service.  What  time 
was  that?  " 

"Has  the  heaven-born  forgotten?  It  was  when  Imray 
Sahib  went  secretly  to  Europe  without  warning  given,  and  I 
— even  I — came  into  the  honored  service  of  the  protector  of 
the  poor." 

"And  Imray  Sahib  went  to  Europe?  " 

"  It  is  so  said  among  the  servants." 

"And  thou  wilt  take  service  with  him  when  he  returns?" 

"Assuredly,  Sahib.  He  was  a  good  master  and  cherished 
his  dependents." 

"  That  is  true.  I  am  very  tired,  but  I  can  go  buck-shoot- 
ing to-morrow.  Give  me  the  little  rifle  that  I  use  for  black 
buck;  it  is  in  the  case  yonder." 

The  man  stooped  over  the  case,  handed  barrels,  stock,  and 
fore-end  to  Strickland,  who  fitted  them  together.  Yawning 
dolefully,  then  he  reached  down  to  the  gun-case,  took  a  solid 
drawn  cartridge,  and  slipped  it  into  the  breech  of  the  .360 
express. 

"And  Imray  Sahib  has  gone  to  Europe  secretly?  That  is 
very  strange,  Bahadur  Khan,  is  it  not?  " 

"  What  do  I  know  of  the  ways  of  the  white  man,  heaven- 
born?" 

"  Very  little,  truly.  But  thou  shalt  know  more.  It  has 
reached  me  that  Imray  Sahib  has  returned  from  his  so  long 


48  THE  RECRUDESCENCE    OF  JMRAY. 

journeyings,  and  that  even  now  he  lies  in  the  next  room, 
waiting  his  servant." 

"Sahib!" 

The  lampHght  slid  along  the  barrels  of  the  rifle  as  they 
levelled  themselves  against  Bahadur  Khan's  broad  breast. 

"Go,  then,  and  look!"  said  Strickland.  "Take  a  lamp. 
Thy  master  is  tired  and  he  waits.     Go!  " 

The  man  picked  up  a  lamp  and  went  into  the  dining  room, 
Strickland  following  and  almost  pushing  him  with  the 
muzzle  of  the  rifle.  He  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  black 
depths  behind  the  ceiling  cloth,  at  the  carcass  of  the  man- 
gled snake  under  foot,  and  last,  a  gray  glaze  setting  on  hi^ 
face,  at  the  thing  under  the  table-cloth. 

"Hast  thou  seen?"  said  Strickland  after  a  pause. 

"  I  have  seen.  I  am  clay  in  the  white  man's  hands. 
What  does  the  presence  do?  " 

"Hang  thee  within  the  month!     What  else?" 

"  Fot  kilHng  him?  Nay,  Sahib,  consider.  Walking  among 
lis,  his  servants,  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  my  child,  who  was 
four  years  old.  Him  he  bewitched,  and  in  ten  days  he  died 
of  the  fever.     My  child!" 

"What  said  Imray  Sahib?" 

"  He  said  he  was  a  handsome  child,  and  patted  him  on 
the  head;  wherefore  my  child  died.  Wherefore  I  killed 
Imray  Sahib  in  the  twilight,  when  he  came  back  from  office 
and  was  sleeping.  The  heaven-born  knows  all  things.  I 
am  the  servant  of  the  heaven-born." 

Strickland  looked  at  me  above  the  rifle  and  said,  in  the 
vernacular,  "  Thou  art  witness  to  this  saying.    He  has  killed." 

Bahadur  Khan  stood  ashen  gray  in  the  light  of  the  one 
lamp.  The  need  for  justification  came  upon  him  very 
swiftly.  "  I  am  trapped,"  he  said,  "  but  the  offence  was  that 
man's.  He  cast  an  evil  eye  upon  my  child,  and  I  killed  and 
hid  him.     Only  such  as  are  served  by  devils,"  he  glared  at 


THE   RECRUDESCENCE    OF  IMRA  V.  49 

Tietjens,   couched    stolidly    before    him,   "only    such    couic 
know  what  I  did/' 

"  It  was  clever.  But  thou  shouldst  have  lashed  him  to  the 
beam  with  a  rope.  Now,  thou  thyself  wilt  hang  by  a  rope. 
Orderly!" 

A  drowsy  policeman  answered  Strickland's  call.  He  was 
followed  by  another,  and  Tietjens  sat  still. 

"  Take  him  to  the  station,"  said  Strickland.  "  There  is 
a  case  toward." 

"Do  I  hang,  then?"  said  Bahadur  Khan,  making  no  at- 
tempt to  escape  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"  If  the  sun  shines  or  the  water  runs  thou  wilt  hang,"  said 
Strickland.  Bahadur  Khan  stepped  back  one  pace,  quivered, 
and  stood  still.     The  two  policemen  waited  further  orders. 

"Go!"  said  Strickland. 

"Nay;  but  I  go  very  swiftly,"  said  Bahadur  Khan. 
"  Look!   I  am  even  now  a  dead  man." 

He  lifted  his  foot,  and  to  the  little  to?  there  clung  the 
head  of  the  half-killed  snake,  firm  fixed  in  the  agony  of  death 

"  I  come  of  land-holding  stock,"  said  Bahadur  Khan,  rock- 
ing where  he  stood.  "  It  were  a  disgrace  for  me  to  go  to  the 
public  scaffold,  therefore  I  take  this  way.  Be  it  remembered 
that  the  sahib's  shirts  are  correctly  enumerated,  and  that 
there  is  an  extra  piece  of  soap  in  his  wash-basin.  My  child 
was  bewitched,  and  I  slew  the  wizard.  Why  should  you 
seek  to  slay  me?     My  honor  is  saved,  and — and — I  die." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  died  as  they  die  who  are  bitten 
by  the  little  kariat,  and  the  policemen  bore  him  and  the 
thing  under  the  table-cloth  to  their  appointed  places.  They 
were  needed  to  make  clear  the  disappearance  of  Imray. 

"This,"  said  Strickland,  very  calmly,  as  he  climbed  into 
bed,  "  is  called  the  nineteenth  century.  Did  you  hear  what 
that  man  said?  " 

"I  heard,"  I  answered.     "Imray  made  a  mistake." 
4 


5C  THE   RECRUDESCENCE    OF  IMRAY. 

**  *^imply  and  solely  through  not  knowing  the  nature  and 
the  coincidence  of  a  little  seasonal  fever.  Bahadur  Khan 
has  been  with  him  for  four  years." 

I  shuddered.  My  own  servant  had  been  with  me  for  ex- 
actly that  length  of  time.  When  I  went  over  to  my  own 
room  I  found  him  waiting,  impassive  as  the  copper  head  on 
a  penny,  to  pull  off  my  boots. 

"What  has  befallen  Bahadur  Khan?"  said  I. 

"  He  was  bitten  by  a  snake  and  died ;  the  rest  the  Sahib 
knows,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  how  much  of  the  matter  hast  thou  known?  " 

"As  much  as  might  be  gathered  from  one  coming  in  the 
twilight  to  seek  satisfaction.  Gently,  Sahib.  Let  me  pull 
off  those  boots." 

I  had  just  settled  to  the  sleep  of  exhaustion  when  I  heard 
Strickland  shouting  from  his  side  of  the  house: 

"Tietjens  has  come  back  to  her  room!  " 

And  so  she  had.  The  great  deerhound  was  couched  on 
her  own  bedstead,  on  her  own  blanket,  and  in  the  next  room 
the  idle,  empty  ceiling  cloth  wagged  light-heartedly  as  it 
flailed  on  the  table.*- 


MOTI   GUJ-MUTINEER, 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER. 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  coffee  planter  in  India  who 
wished  to  clear  some  forest  land  for  coffee-planting.  When 
he  had  cut  down  all  the  trees  and  burned  the  underwood, 
the  stumps  still  remained.  Dynamite  is  expensive  and  slow 
fire  slow.  The  happy  medium  for  stump-clearing  is  the  lord 
of  all  beasts,  who  is  the  elephant.  He  will  either  push  the 
stump  out  of  the  ground  with  his  tusks,  if  he  has  any,  or 
drag  it  out  with  ropes.  The  planter,  therefore,  hired  ele- 
phants by  ones  and  twos  and  threes,  and  fell  to  work.  The 
very  best  of  all  the  elephants  belonged  to  the  very  worst  of 
all  the  drivers  or  mahouts;  and  the  superior  beast's  name 
was  Moti  Guj.  He  was  the  absolute  property  of  his  mahout, 
which  would  never  have  been  the  case  under  native  rule: 
for  Moti  Guj  was  a  creature  to  be  desired  by  kings,  and  his 
name,  being  translated,  meant  the  Pearl  Elephant.  Because 
the  British  government  was  in  the  land,  Deesa,  the  mahout, 
enjoyed  his  property  undisturbed.  He  was  dissipated. 
When  he  had  made  much  money  through  the  strength  cf  his 
elephant,  he  would  get  extremely  drunk  and  give  Moti  Guj 
a  beating  with  a  tent-peg  over  the  tender  nails  of  the  fore- 
feet. Moti  Guj  never  trampled  the  life  out  of  Deesa  on 
these  occasions,  for  he  knew  that  after  the  beating  was  over, 
Deesa  would  embrace  his  trunk  and  weep  and  call  him  his 
love  and  his  life  and  the  liver  of  his  soul,  and  give  him  some 
Hquor.  Moti  Guj  was  very  fond  of  liquor — arrack  for  choice, 
though  he  would  drink  palm-tree  toddy  if   nothing    better 


54  MOT  I  GUJ— MUTINEER. 

offered.  Then  Deesa  would  go  to  sleep  between  Moti  Guj's 
forefeet,  and  as  Deesa  generally  chose  the  middle  of  the 
public  road,  and  as  Moti  Guj  mounted  guard  over  him,  and 
would  not  permit  horse,  foot,  or  cart  to  pass  by,  traffic  was 
congested  till  Deesa  saw  fit  to  wake  up. 

There  was  no  sleeping  in  the  day-time  on  the  planter's 
clearing:  the  wages  were  too  high  to  risk.  Deesa  sat  on 
Moti  Guj's  neck  and  gave  him  orders,  while  Moti  Guj  rooted 
up  the  stumps — for  he  owned  a  magnificent  pair  of  tusks;  or 
pulled  at  the  end  of  a  rope — for  he  had  a  magnificent  pair 
of  shoulders — while  Deesa  kicked  him  behind  the  ears  and 
said  he  was  the  king  of  elephants.  At  evening  time  Moti 
Guj  would  wash  down  his  three  hundred  pounds'  weight  of 
green  food  with  a  quart  of  arrack,  and  Deesa  would  take  a 
share,  and  sing  songs  between  Moti  Guj's  legs  till  it  was 
time  to  go  to  bed.  Once  a  week  Deesa  led  Moti  Guj  down 
to  the  river,  and  Moti  Guj  lay  on  his  side  luxuriously  in  the 
shallows,  while  Deesa  went  over  him  with  a  coir  swab  and  a 
brick.  Moti  Guj  never  mistook  the  pounding  blow  of  the 
latter  for  the  smack  of  the  former  that  warned  him  to  get  up 
and  turn  over  on  the  other  side.  Then  Deesa  would  look  at 
his  feet  and  examine  his  eyes  and  turn  up  the  fringes  of  his 
mighty  ears  in  case  of  sores  or  budding  ophthalmia.  After 
inspection  the  two  would  "  come  up  with  a  song  from  the 
sea,"  Moti  Guj,  all  black  and  shining,  waving  a  torn  tree 
branch  twelve  feet  long  in  his  trunk,  and  Deesa  knotting  up 
his  own  long,  wet  hair. 

It  was  a  peaceful,  well-paid  life  till  Deesa  felt  the  return 
of  the  desire  to  drink  deep.  He  wished  for  an  orgie.  The 
little  draughts  that  led  nowhere  were  taking  the  manhood 
out  of  him. 

He  went  to  the  planter,  and  "  My  mother's  dead,"  said  he, 
weeping. 

"  She  died  on  the  last  plantation  two  months  ago,  and  she 


MOT  I   GUJ— MUTINEER.  55 

died  once  before  that  when  you  were  working  for  me  last 
year,"  said  the  planter,  who  knew  something  of  the  ways  of 
nativedom. 

"Then  it's  my  aunt,  and  slie  was  just  the  same  as  a 
mother  to  me,"  said  Deesa,  weeping  more  than  ever.  ^'She 
has  left  eighteen  small  children  entirely  without  bread,  and 
it  is  I  who  must  fill  their  little  stomachs,"  said  Deesa,  beat- 
ing his  head  on  the  floor. 

"Who  brought  you  the  news?  "  said  the  planter. 

"The  post,"  said  Deesa. 

"  There  hasn't  been  a  post  here  for  the  past  week.  Get 
back  to  your  lines!  " 

"A  devastating  sickness  has  fallen  on  my  village,  and  all 
my  wives  are  dying,"  yelled  Deesa,  really  in  tears  this 
time. 

"  Call  Chihun,  who  comes  from  Deesa's  village,"  said  the 
planter.     "Chihun,  has  this  man  got  a  wife?" 

"  He!  "  said  Chihun.  "  No.  Not  a  woman  of  our  village 
would  look  at  him.     They'd  sooner  marry  the  elephant." 

Chihun  snorted.      Deesa  wept  and  bellowed. 

"  You  will  get  into  a  difficulty  in  a  minute,"  said  the 
planter.     "  Go  back  to  your  work !  " 

"  Now  I  will  speak  heaven's  truth,''  gulped  Deesa,  with 
an  inspiration.  "  I  haven't  been  drunk  for  two  months.  I 
desire  to  depart  in  order  to  get  properly  drunk  afar  off  and 
distant  from  this  heavenly  plantation.  Thus  I  shall  cause 
no  trouble." 

A  flickering  smile  crossed  the  planter's  face.  "  Deesa," 
said  he,  "you've  spoken  the  truth,  and  I'd  give  you  leave  on 
the  spot  if  anything  could  be  done  with  Moti  Guj  while 
you're  awa,y.     You  know  that  he  will  only  obey  your  orders." 

"  May  the  light  of  the  heavens  live  forty  thousand  years. 
I  shall  be  absent  but  ten  little  days.  After  that,  upon  my 
faith  and  honor  and  soul,  I  return.     As  to  the  inconsiderable 


56  MOTI   GUJ— MUTINEER. 

interval,  have  I  the  gracious  permission  of  the  heaven-born 
to  call  up  Moti  Guj  ?  " 

Permission  was  granted,  and  in  answer  to  Deesa's  shrill 
yell,  the  mighty  tusker  swung  out  of  the  shade  of  a  clump  of 
trees  where  he  had  been  squirting  dust  over  himself  till  his 
master  should  return. 

"  Light  of  my  heart,  protector  of  the  drunken,  mountain 
of  might,  give  ear,"  said  Deesa,  standing  in  front  of  him. 

Moti  Guj  gave  ear,  and  saluted  with  his  trunk.  "  I  am 
going  away,"  said  Deesa. 

Moti  Guj's  eyes  twinkled.  He  liked  jaunts  as  well  as  his 
master.  One  could  snatch  all  manner  of  nice  things  from 
the  roadside  then. 

"  But  you,  you  fussy  old  pig,  must  stay  behind  and  work." 

The  twinkle  died  out  as  Moti  Guj  tried  to  look  dehghted. 
He  hated  stump-hauling  on  the  plantation.  It  hurt  his 
teeth. 

"  I  shall  be  gone  for  ten  days,  O  delectable  one.  Hold 
up  your  near  fore-foot  and  I'll  impress  the  fact  upon  it,  warty 
toad  of  a  dried  mud-puddle."  Deesa  took  a  tent-peg  and 
banged  Moti  Guj  ten  times  on  the  nails.  Moti  Guj  grunted 
and  shuffled  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  Ten  days,"  said  Deesa,  "  you  will  work  and  haul  and  root 
trees  as  Chihun  here  shall  order  you.  Take  up  Chihun  and 
set  him  on  your  neck!"  Moti  Guj  curled  the  tip  of  his 
trunk,  Chihun  put  his  foot  there  and  was  swung  on  to  the 
neck.  Deesa  handed  Chihun  the  heavy  ankiis — the  iron  ele- 
phant goad. 

Chihun  thumped  Moti  Guj's  bald  head  as  a  pavior 
thumps  a  curbstone. 

Moti  Guj  trumpeted. 

"Be  still,  hog  of  the  backwoods.  Chihun's  your  mahout 
for  ten  days.  And  now  bid  me  good-by,  beast  after  mine 
own  heart.     O  my  lord,  my  king.     Jewel  of  all  created  ele- 


MOTI   GUJ— MUTINEER.  57 

phants,  lily  of  the  herd,  preserve  your  honored  health ;  be 
virtuous.     Adieu!" 

IMoti  Guj  lapped  his  trunk  round  Deesa  and  swung  him 
into  the  air  twice.  That  was  his  way  of  bidding  him  good- 
by. 

"  He'll  work  now,"  said  Deesa  to  the  planter.  "  Have 
I  leave  to  go?  " 

The  planter  nodded,  and  Deesa  dived  into  the  woods. 
Moti  Guj  went  back  to  haul  stumps. 

Chihun  w^  very  kind  to  him,  but  he  felt  unhappy  and  for- 
lorn for  all  that.  Chihun  gave  him  a  ball  of  spices,  and 
tickled  him  under  the  chin,  and  Chihun's  little  baby  cooed 
to  him  after  work  was  over,  and  Chihun's  wife  called  him  a 
darling;  but  Moti  Guj  was  a  bachelor  by  instinct,  as  Deesa 
was.  He  did  not  understand  the  domestic  emotions.  He 
wanted  the  light  of  his  universe  back  again — the  drink  and 
the  drunken  slumber,  the  savage  beatings  and  the  savage 
caresses. 

None  the  less  he  worked  well,  and  the  planter  wondered. 
Deesa  had  wandered  along  the  roads  till  he  met  a  marriage 
procession  of  his  own  caste,  and,  drinking,  dancing,  and  tip- 
pling, had  drifted  with  it  past  all  knowledge  of  the  lapse  of 
time. 

The  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  dawnea,  ana  there  re- 
turned no  Deesa.  Moti  Guj  was  loosed  from  his  ropes  for 
the  daily  stint.  He  swung  clear,  looked  round,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  began  to  walk  away,  as  one  having  business 
elsewhere. 

"Hi!  ho!  Come  back,  you,"  shouted  Chihun.  "Come 
back  and  put  me  on  your  neck,  misborn  mountain.  Return, 
splendor  of  the  hillsides.  Adornment  of  all  India,  heave  to, 
or  ril  bang  every  toe  off  your  fat  forefoot!  " 

Moti  Guj  gurgled  gently,  but  did  not  obey.  Chihun  ran 
after  him  with  a  rope  and  caught  him  up.     Moti  Guj  put  his 


S^  MOTI   GUI— MUTINEER, 

ears  forward,  and  Chihun  knew  what  that  meant,  though  he 
tried  to  carry  it  off  with  high  words. 

"  None  of  your  nonsense  with  me,"  said  he.  "  To  your 
pickets,  devil-son." 

"Hrrump!"  said  Moti  Guj,  and  that  was  all — that  and 
the  forebent  ears. 

Moti  Guj  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  chewed  a  branch 
for  a  toothpick,  and  strolled  about  the  clearing,  making  fun 
of  the  other  elephants  who  had  just  set  to  work. 

Chihun  reported  the  state  of  affairs  to  the  planter,  who 
came  out  with  a  dog-whip  and  cracked  it  furiously.  Moti 
Guj  paid  the  white  man  the  compliment  of  charging  him 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  the  clearing  and  "  Hrrumph- 
ing"  him  into  his  veranda.  Then  he  stood  outside  the 
house  chuckhng  to  himself  and  shaking  all  over  with  the  fun 
of  it,  as  an  elephant  will. 

"  We'll  thrash  him,"  said  the  planter.  "  He  shall  have  the 
finest  thrashing  ever  elephant  received.  Give  Kala  Nag 
and  Nazim  twelve  foot  of  chain  apiece,  and  tell  them  to  lay 
on  twenty." 

Kala  Nag — which  means  Black  Snake — and  Nazim  were 
two  of  the  biggest  elephants  in  the  lines,  and  one  of  their 
duties  was  to  administer  the  graver  punishment,  since  no 
man  can  beat  an  elephant  properly. 

They  took  the  whipping  chains  and  rattled  them  in  their 
trunks  as  they  sidled  up  to  Moti  Guj,  meaning  to  hustle  him 
between  them.  Moti  Guj  had  never,  in  all  his  life  of  thirty- 
nine  years,  been  whipped,  and  he  did  not  intend  to  begin  a 
new  experience.  So  he  waited,  waving  his  head  from  right 
to  left,  and  measuring  the  precise  spot  in  Kala  Nag's  fat  side 
where  a  blunt  tusk  could  sink  deepest.  Kala  Nag  had  no 
tusks;  the  chain  was  his  badge  of  his  authority;  but  for  all 
that,  he  swung  wide  of  Moti  Guj  at  the  last  minute,  and  tried 
to  appear  as  if  he  had  brought  the  chain  out  for  amusement. 


MOri    GUJ—MUTIXEER.  59 

Nazim  turned  round  and  went  home  early.  He  did  not  feel 
fighting  fit  that  morning,  and  so  ]Moti  Guj  was  left  standing 
alone  with  his  ears  cocked. 

That  decided  the  planter  to  argue  no  more,  and  Aloti  Guj 
rolled  back  to  his  amateur  inspection  of  the  clearing.  A'n 
elephant  who  will  not  work  and  is  not  tied  up  is  about  as 
manageable  as  an  eighty-one-ton  gun  loose  in  a  heavy  sea- 
way. He  slapped  old  friends  on  the  back  and  asked  them  if 
the  stumps  were  coming  away  easily;  he  talked  nonsense 
concerning  labor  and  the  inalienable  rights  of  elephants  to  a 
long  "  nooning ; "'  and,  wandering  to  and  fro,  he  thoroughly 
demoralized  the  garden  till  sundown,  when  he  returned  to 
his  pickets  for  food. 

"  If  you  won  t  work  you  shan't  eat,"  said  Chihun  angrily. 
"  You're  a  wild  elephant,  and  no  educated  animal  at  all. 
Go  back  to  your  jungle." 

Chihun's  little  brown  baby  was  roUing  on  the  floor  of  the 
hut,  and  stretching  out  its  fat  arms  to  the  huge  shadow  in 
the  doorway.  jNIoti  Guj  knew  well  that  it  was  the  dearest 
thing  on  earth  to  Chihun.  He  swung  out  his  trunk  with  a 
fascinating  crook  at  the  end,  and  the  brown  baby  threw  itself 
shouting  upon  it.  jMoti  Guj  made  fast  and  pulled  up  till  the 
brown  baby  was  crowing  in  the  air  twelve  feet  above  his 
father's  head. 

"Great  Lord!  "  said  Chihun.  "Flour  cakes  of  the  best, 
twelve  in  number,  two  feet  across  and  soaked  in  rum,  shall 
be  yours  on  the  instant,  and  two  hundred  pounds'  weight  of 
fresh-cut  young  sugar-cane  therewith.  Deign  only  to  put 
down  safely  that  insignificant  brat  who  is  my  heart  and  my 
life  to  me." 

Moti  Guj  tucked  the  brown  baby  comfortably  between  his 
forefeet,  that  could  have  knocked  into  toothpicks  all  Chihun's 
hut,  and  waited  for  his  food.  He  ate  it,  and  the  brown  baby 
crawled  away.     Moti  Guj  dozed  and  thought  of  Decsa.     One 


6o  MOTI    GUJ— MUTINEER. 

of  many  mysteries  connected  with  the  elephant  is  that  his 
huge  body  needs  less  sleep  than  anything  else  that  lives. 
Four  or  five  hours  in  the  night  suffice — two  just  before  mid- 
night, lying  down  on  one  side;  two  just  after  one  o'clock, 
lying  down  on  the  other.  The  rest  of  the  silent  hours  are 
filled  with  eating  and  fidgeting,  and  long  grumbling  solilo- 
quies. 

At  midnight,  therefore,  Moti  Guj  strode  out  of  his  pickets, 
for  a  thought  had  come  to  him  that  Deesa  might  be  lying 
drunk  somewhere  in  the  dark  forest  with  none  to  look  after 
him.  So  all  that  night  he  chased  through  the  undergrowth, 
blowing  and  trumpeting  and  shaking  his  ears.  He  went 
down  to  the  river  and  blared  across  the  shallows  where  Deesa 
used  to  wash  him,  but  there  was  no  answer.  He  could  not 
find  Deesa,  but  he  disturbed  all  the  other  elephants  in  the 
lines,  and  nearly  frightened  to  death  some  gypsies  in  the 
woods. 

At  dawn  Deesa  returned  to  the  plantation.  He  had  been 
very  drunk  indeed,  and  he  expected  to  get  into  trouble  for 
outstaying  his  leave.  He  drew  a  long  breath  when  he  saw 
that  the  bungalow  and  the  plantation  were  still  uninjured, 
for  he  knew  something  of  Moti  Guj's  temper,  and  reported 
himself  with  many  lies  and  salaams.  Moti  Guj  had  gone  to 
his  pickets  for  breakfast.  The  night  exercise  had  made  him 
hungry. 

"  Call  up  your  beast,"  said  the  planter,  and  Deesa  shouted 
in  the  mysterious  elephant  language  that  some  mahouts  be- 
lieve came  from  China  at  the  birth  of  the  world,  when  ele- 
phants and  not  men  were  masters.  Moti  Guj  heard  and 
came.  Elephants  do  not  gallop.  They  move  from  places 
at  varying  rates  of  speed.  If  an  elephant  wished  to  catch 
an  express  train  he  could  not  gallop,  but  he  could  catch  the 
train.  So  Moti  Guj  was  at  the  planter's  door  almost  before 
Chihun  noticed  that  he  had  left  his  pickets.     He  fell  into 


MOTI   GUJ— MUTINEER.  6 1 

Deesa's  arms  trumpeting  with  joy,  and  the  man  and  beast 
wept  and  slobbered  over  each  other,  and  handled  each  other 
from  head  to  heel  to  see  that  no  harm  had  befallen. 

"  Now  we  will  get  to  work,"  said  Deesa.  "  Lift  me  up, 
my  son  and  my  joy." 

Moti  Guj  swung  him  up  and  the  two  went  to  the  coffee 
clearing  to  look  for  difficult  stumps. 

The  planter  was  too  astonished  to  be  very  angry. 


THE  MUTINY  OF  THE 
MAVERICKS. 


THE  MUTINY  OF  THE  MAVERICKS. 


When  three  obscure  gentlemen  in  San  Francisco  argued 
on  insufficient  premises  they  condemned  a  fellow-creature  to 
a  most  unpleasant  death  in  a  far  country,  which  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  United  States.  They  foregathered 
at  the  top  of  a  tenement-house  in  Tehama  Street,  an  un- 
savory quarter  of  the  city,  and  there  calling  for  certain 
drinks,  they  conspired  because  they  were  conspirators  by 
trade,  officially  known  as  the  Third  Three  of  the  I.  A.  A. — an 
institution  for  the  propagation  of  pure  light,  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  any  others,  though  it  is  affihated  to  many.  The 
Second  Three  live  in  Montreal  and  work  among  the  poor 
there ;  the  First  Three  have  their  home  in  New  York,  not 
far  from  Castle  Garden,  and  write  regularly  once  a  week  to 
a  small  house  near  one  of  the  big  hotels  at  Boulogne.  What 
happens  after  that,  a  particular  section  of  Scotland  Yard 
knows  too  well  and  laughs  at.  A  conspirator  detests  ridicule. 
More  men  have*  been  stabbed  with  Lucrezia  Borgia  daggers 
and  dropped  into  the  Thames  for  laughing  at  head  centres 
and  triangles  than  for  betraying  secrets ;  for  this  is  human 
nature. 

The  Third  Three  conspired  over  whiskey  cocktails  and  a 
clean  sheet  of  note-paper  against  the  British  Empire  and  all 
that  lay  therein.  This  work  is  very  like  what  men  without 
discernment  call  politics  before  a  general  election.  You  pick 
out  and  discuss  in  the  company  of  congenial  friends  all  the 
weak  points  in  your  opponent's  organization,  and  uncon- 
5 


66  THE  MUTINY  OF   THE  MAVERICKS. 

sciously  dwell  upon  and  exaggerate  all  their  mishaps,  till  it 
seems  to  you  a  miracle  that  the  party  holds  together  for  an 
hour. 

"  Our  principle  is  not  so  much  active  demonstration — that 
we  leave  to  others — as  passive  embarrassment  to  weaken  and 
unnerve,"  said  the  first  man.  "  Wherever  an  organization  is 
crippled,  wherever  a  confusion  is  thrown  into  any  branch  of 
any  department,  we  gain  a  step  for  those  who  take  on  the 
work  J  we  are  but  the  forerunners."  He  was  a  German  en- 
thusiast, and  editor  of  a  newspaper,  from  whose  leading  arti- 
cles he  quoted  frequently. 

"That  cursed  Empire  makes  so  many  blunders  of  her  own 
that  unless  we  doubled  the  year's  average  I  guess  it  wouldn't 
strike  her  anything  special  had  occurred,"  said  the  second 
man.  "Are  you  prepared  to  say  that  all  our  resources  are 
equal  to  blowing  off  the  muzzle  of  a  hundred-ton  gun  or 
spiking  a  ten -thousand-ton  ship  on  a  plain  rock  in  clear  day- 
light? They  can  beat  us  at  our  own  game.  Better  join 
hands  with  the  practical  branches ;  we're  in  funds  now.  Try 
a  direct  scare  in  a  crowded  street.  They  value  their  greasy 
hides."  He  was  the  drag  upon  the  wheel,  and  an  American- 
ized Irishman  of  the  second  generation,  despising  his  own 
race  and  hating  the  other.     He  had  learned  caution. 

The  third  man  drank  his  cocktail  and  spoke  no  word. 
He  was  the  strategist,  but  unfortunately  his  knowledge  of  life 
was  limited.  He  picked  a  letter  from  his  breast-pocket  and 
threw  it  across  the  table.  That  epistle  to  the  heathen  con- 
tained some  very  concise  directions  from  the  First  Three  in 
New  York.     It  said: 

"  The  boom  in  black  iron  has  already  affected  the  eastern 
markets  where  our  agents  have  been  forcing  down  the  Kng- 
lish-held  stock  among  the  smaller  buyers  who  watch  the 
turn  of  shares.  Any  immediate  operations,  such  as  western 
bears,  would  increase  their  wiUingness  to  unload.     This,  how- 


THE   MUTIXY   OF    THE    MATE  RICKS.  67 

ever,  cannot  be  expected  till  they  see  clearly  that  foreign 
iron-masters  are  willing  to  co-operate.  Mulcahy  should  be 
dispatched  to  feel  the  pulse  of  the  market,  and  act  accord- 
ingly. Mavericks  are  at  present  the  best  for  our  purpose. — 
P.  D.  Q." 

As  a  message  referring  to  an  iron  crisis  in  Pennsylvania  it 
was  interesting,  if  not  lucid.  As  a  new  departure  in  organ- 
ized attack  on  an  outlying  English  dependency,  it  was  more 
than  interesting. 

The  first  man  read  it  through  and  murmured: 

"Already?  Surely  they  are  in  too  great  hurry.  All  that 
Dhulip  Singh  could  do  in  India  he  has  done,  down  to  the 
distribution  of  his  photographs  among  the  peasantry.  Ho! 
Ho!  The  Paris  firm  arranged  that,  and  he  has  no  substan- 
tial money  backing  from  the  Other  Power.  Even  our  agents 
in  India  know  he  hasn't.  What  is  the  use  of  our  organization 
wasting  men  on  work  that  is  already  done?  Of  course,  the 
Irish  regiments  in  India  are  half-mutinous  as  they  stand." 

This  shows  how  near  a  lie  may  come  to  the  truth.  An 
Irish  regiment,  for  just  so  long  as  it  stands  still,  is  generally 
a  hard  handful  to  control,  being  reckless  and  rough.  When, 
however,  it  is  moved  in  the  direction  of  musketry-firing,  it 
becomes  strangely  and  unpatriotically  content  with  its  lot. 
It  has  even  been  heard  to  cheer  the  queen  with  enthusiasm 
on  these  occasions. 

But  the  notion  of  tampering  with  the  army  was,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  Tehama  Street,  an  altogether  sound  one. 
There  is  no  shadow  of  stability  in  the  policy  of  an  English 
government,  and  the  most  sacred  oaths  of  England  would, 
even  if  embossed  on  vellum,  find  very  few  buyers  among 
colonies  and  dependencies  that  have  suffered  from  vain  be- 
liefs. But  there  remains  to  England  always  her  army.  That 
cannot  change  except  in  the  matter  of  uniform  and  equip- 
ment.    The  officers  may  write  to  the  papers  demanding  the 


68  THE  MUTINY  OF   THE   MAVERICKS. 

heads  of  the  Horse  Guards  in  default  of  cleaner  redress  for 
grievances;  the  men  may  break  loose  across  a  country  town 
and  seriously  startle  the  publicans,  but  neither  officers  nor 
men  have  it  in  their  composition  to  mutiny  after  the  Conti- 
nental manner.  The  English  people,  when  they  trouble  to 
think  about  the  army  at  all,  are,  and  with  justice,  absolutely 
assured  that  it  is  absolutely  trustworthy.  Imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment their  emotions  on  realizing  that  such  and  such  a  regi- 
ment was  in  open  revolt  from  causes  directly  due  to  Eng- 
land's management  of  Ireland.  They  would  probably  send 
the  regiment  to  the  polls  forthwith  and  examine  their  own 
consciences  as  to  their  duty  to  Erin,  but  they  would  never 
be  easy  any  more.  And  it  was  this  vague,  unhappy  mistrust 
that  the  I.  A.  A.  was  laboring  to  produce. 

"Sheer waste  of  breath,"  said  the  second  man  after  a  pause 
in  the  council.  "  I  don't  see  the  use  of  tampering  with  their 
fool-army,  but  it  has  been  tried  before  and  we  must  try  it 
again.  It  looks  well  in  the  reports.  If  we  send  one  man 
from  here,  you  may  bet  your  life  that  other  men  are  going 
too.     Order  up  Mulcahy." 

They  ordered  him  up — a  slim,  slight,  dark -haired  young 
man,  devoured  with  that  bUnd  rancorous  hatred  of  England 
that  only  reaches  its  full  growth  across  the  Atlantic.  He 
had  sucked  it  from  his  mothers  breast  in  the  little  cabin  at 
the  back  of  the  northern  avenues  of  New  York;  he  had  been 
taught  his  rights  and  hi»  wrongs,  in  German  and  Irish,  on  the 
canal  fronts  of  Chicago;  and  San  Francisco  held  men  who 
told  him  strange  and  awful  things  of  the  great  blind  power 
over  the  seas.  Once,  when  business  took  him  across  the 
Atlantic,  he  had  served  in  an  English  regiment,  and  being 
insubordinate  had  suffered  extremely.  He  drew  all  his  ideas 
of  England  that  were  not  bred  by  the  cheaper  patriotic  prints 
from  one  iron-fisted  colonel  and  an  unbending  adjutant.  He 
would  go  to  the  mines  if  need  be  to  teach  his  gospel.     And 


THE   MUTINY   OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  69 

he  went  as  his  instructions  advised,  p.  d.  q. — which  means 
"with  speed" — to  introduce  embarrassment  into  an  Irish 
regiment,  "already  half-mutinous,  quartered  among  Sikh 
peasantry,  all  wearing  miniatures  of  His  Highness  Dhulip 
Singh,  Maharaja  of  the  Punjab,  next  their  hearts,  and  all 
eagerly  expecting  his  arrival."  Other  information  equally 
valuable  was  given  him  by  his  masters.  He  was  to  be  cau- 
tious, but  never  to  grudge  expense  in  winning  the  hearts  of 
the  men  in  the  regiment.  His  mother  in  New  York  would 
supply  funds,  and  he  was  to  write  to  her  once  a  month.  Life 
is  pleasant  for  a  man  who  has  a  mother  in  New  York  to  send 
him  ;£^2oo  a  year  over  and  above  his  regimental  pay. 

In  process  of  time,  thanks  to  his  intimate  knowledge  of 
drill  and  musketry  exercise,  the  excellent  Mulcahy,  wearing 
the  corporal's  stripe,  went  out  in  a  troop-ship  and  joined  Her 
Majesty's  Royal  Loyal  Musketeers,  commonly  known  as  the 
"  Mavericks,"  because  they  were  masterless  and  unbranded 
cattle — sons  of  small  farmers  in  County  Clare,  shoeless  vaga- 
bonds of  Kerry,  herders  of  Ballyvegan,  much  wanted  "  moon- 
lighters "  from  the  bare  rainy  headlands  of  the  south  coast, 
officered  by  O'Mores,  Bradys,  Hills,  Kilreas,  and  the  like. 
Never,  to  outward  seeming,  was  there  more  promising  material 
to  work  on.  The  First  Three  had  chosen  their  regiment  well. 
It  feared  nothing  that  moved  or  talked  save  the  colonel  and 
the  regimental  Roman  Catholic  chaplain,  the  fat  Father 
Dennis,  who  held  the  keys  of  heaven  and  hell  and  glared 
like  an  angry  bull  when  he  desired  to  be  convincing.  Him 
also  it  loved  because  on  occasions  of  stress  he  was  wont  to 
tuck  up  his  cassock  and  charge  with  the  rest  into  the  mer- 
riest of  the  fray,  where  he  always  found,  good  man,  that  the 
saints  sent  him  a  revolver  when  there  was  a  fallen  private  to 
be  protected  or — but  this  came  as  an  after-thought — his  own 
gray  head  to  be  guarded. 

Cautiously  as  he  had   been  instructed,  tenderly  and  with 


79  THE  MUTINY   OF   THE   MAVERICKS. 

much  beer,  Mulcahy  opened  his  projects  to  such  as  he 
deemed  fittest  to  listen.  And  these  were,  one  and  all.  of 
that  quaint,  crooked,  sweet,  profoundly  irresponsible,  rnd 
profoundly  lovable  race  that  fight  like  fiends,  argue  like  chil- 
dren, reason  like  women,  obey  like  men,  and  jest  like  their 
own  gobhns  of  the  rath  through  rebellion,  loyalty,  want,  woe, 
or  war.  The  underground  work  of  a  conspiracy  is  always 
dull  and  very  much  the  same  the  world  over.  At  the  end  of 
six  months — the  seed  always  falling  on  good  ground — Mul- 
cahy spoke  almost  explicitly,  hinting  darkly  in  the  approved 
fashion  at  dread  powers  behind  him,  and  advising  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  mutiny.  Were  they. not  dogs,  evilly 
treated ;  had  they  not  all  their  own  and  the  natural  revenges 
to  satisfy?  Who  in  these  days  could  do  aught  to  nine  hun- 
dred men  in  rebellion ;  who,  again,  could  stay  them  if  they 
broke  for  the  sea,  licking  up  on  their  way  other  regiments 
only  too  anxious  to  join?  And  afterward  .  .  .  here  fol- 
lowed windy  promises  of  gold  and  preferment,  office  and 
honor,  ever  dear  to  a  certain  type  of  Irishman. 

As  he  finished  his  speech,  in  the  dusk  of  a  twilight,  to  his 
chosen  associates,  there  was  a  sound  of  a  rapidly-unslung 
belt  behind  him.  The  arm  of  one  Dan  Grady  flew  out  in 
the  gloom  and  arrested  something.     Then  said  Dan : 

"  Mulcahy,  you're  a  great  man,  an'  you  do  credit  to  who- 
ever sent  you.  Walk  about  a  bit  while  we  think  of  it." 
Mulcahy  departed  elate.  He  knew  his  words  would  sink 
deep. 

"  Why  the  triple-dashed  asterisks  did  ye  not  let  me  curl 
the  tripes  out  of  him?  "  grunted  a  voice. 

"  Because  I'm  not  a  fat-headed  fool.  Boys,  'tis  what  he's 
been  driving  at  these  six  months — our  superior  corpril  with 
his  education  and  his  copies  of  the  Irish  papers  and  his  ever- 
lasting beer.  He's  been  sent  for  the  purpose  and  that's  where 
the  money  comes  from.     Can  ye  not  see?     That  man's  a 


THE  MUTINY  OF    THE  MAVERICKS.  7 1 

crxDld-mine,  which  Horse  Egan  here  would  have  destroyed 
s^ith  a  belt-buckle.  It  would  be  throwing  away  the  gifts  of 
Providence  not  to  fall  in  with  his  little  plans.  Of  course 
we'll  mutiny  till  all's  dry.  Shoot  the  colonel  on  the  parade- 
ground,  massacre  the  company  officers,  ransack  the  arsenal, 
and  then — boys,  did  he  tell  you  what  next?  He  told  7}ie 
the  other  night  when  he  was  beginning  to  talk  wild.  Then 
we're  to  join  with  the  niggers,  and  look  for  help  from  Dhulip 
Singh  and  the  Russians!  " 

"And  spoil  the  best  campaign  that  ever  was  this  side  of 
hell!  Danny,  I'd  have  lost  the  beer  to  ha'  given  him  the 
belting  he  requires." 

"Oh,  let  him  go  this  awhile,  man!  He's  got  no— no  con- 
structiveness,  but  that's  the  egg-meat  of  his  plan  and  you 
must  understand  that  I'm  in  with  it,  an'  so  are  you.  We'll 
want  oceans  of  beer  to  convince  us — firmaments  full.  We'll 
give  him  talk  for  his  money,  and  one  by  one  all  the  boys'U 
come  in,  and  he'll  have  a  nest  of  nine  hundred  mutineers  to 
squat  in  an'  give  drink  to." 

"  What  makes  me  killing-mad  is  his  wanting  us  to  do  what 
the  niggers  did  thirty  years  gone.  That  an'  his  pig's  cheek 
in  saying  that  other  regiments  would  come  along,"  said  a 
Kerry  man. 

"  That's  not  so  bad  as  hintin'  we  should  loose  off  at  the 
colonel." 

"Colonel  be  sugared!  I'd  as  soon  as  not  put  a  shot 
through  his  helmet  to  see  him  jump  and  clutch  his  old  horse's 
head.  But  Mulcahy  talks  o'  shootin'  our  comp'ny  orf'cers 
accidental.'' 

"  He  said  that,  did  he?  "  said  Horse  Egan. 

"Somethin'  like  that,  anyways.  Can't  ye  fancy  ould  Bar- 
ber Brady  wid  a  bullet  in  his  lungs,  coughin'  like  a  sick  mon- 
key an' sayin' :  '  Bhoys,  I  do  not  mind  your  gettin' dhrunk, 
but  you  must  hould  your  liquor  like  men.     The  man  that 


7-«  THE   MUTINY  OF   THE  MAVERICKS. 

shot  mc  is  dhrunk.     I'll  suspend  investigations  for  six  hours, 
while  I  get  this  bullet  cut  out,  and  then '  " 

"An'  then,"  continued  Horse  Egan,  for  the  peppery 
major's  peculiarities  of  speech  and  manner  were  as  well 
known  as  his  tanned  face — "  an'  then,  ye  dissolute,  half-baked, 
putty-faced  scum  o'  Connemara,  if  I  find  a  man  so  much  as 
lookin'  confused,  bedad,  I'll  coort-martial  the  whole  com- 
pany. A  man  that  can't  get  over  his  liquor  in  six  hours  is 
not  fit  to  belong  to  the  Mavericks!  " 

A  shout  of  laughter  bore  witness  to  the  truth  of  the 
sketch. 

"  It's  pretty  to  think  of,"  said  the  Kerry  man  slowly 
"  Mulcahy  would  have  us  do  all  the  devilment,  and  get  clear 
himself,  someways.  He  wudn't  be  takin'  all  this  fools 
throuble  in  shpoilin'  the  reputation  of  the  regiment." 

"  Reputation  of  your  grandmother's  pig!  "  said  Dan. 

"  Well,  an'  he  had  a  good  reputation  tu ;  so  it's  all  right. 
Mulcahy  must  see  his  way  to  clear  out  behind  him,  or  he'd 
not  ha'  come  so  far,  talkin'  powers  of  darkness." 

"Did  you  hear  anything  of  a  regimental  court-martial 
among  the  Black  Boneens,  these  days?  Half  a  company  of 
'em  took  one  of  the  new  draft  an'  hanged  him  by  his  arms 
with  a  tent  rope  from  a  third-story  veranda.  They  gave 
no  reason  for  so  doin',  but  he  was  half-dead.  I'm  thinking 
that  the  Boneens  are  short-sighted.  It  was  a  friend  of  Mul- 
cahy's,  or  a  man  in  the  same  trade.  They'd  a  deal  better 
ha'  taken  his  beer,"  returned  Dan  reflectively. 

"  Better  still  ha'  handed  him  up  to  the  colonel,"  said  Horse 

Egan,  "  onless .     But  sure  the  news  wud  be  all  over  the 

counthry  an'  give  the  reg'ment  a  bad  name." 

"An'  there'd  be  no  reward  for  that  man — but  he  went 
about  talkin',"  said  the  Kerry  man  artlessly. 

"You  speak  by  your  breed,"  said  Dan,  with  a  laugh. 
"There  was   never   a   Kerry  man   yet   that   wudn't   sell  his 


THE  MUTINY  OF   THE  MAVERICKS.  73 

brother  for  a  pipe  o'  tobacco  an'  a  pat  on  the  back  from  a 
policeman.'" 

"Thank  God  I'm  not  a  bloomin'  Orangeman,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  No,  nor  never  will  be,''  said  Dan.  "  They  breed  men  in 
Ulster.     Would  you  like  to  thry  the  taste  of  one?  " 

The  Kerry  man  looked  and  longed,  but  forebore.  The 
odds  of  battle  were  too  great. 

"  Then  you'll  not  even  give  Mulcahy  a — a  strike  for  his 
money,"  said  the  voice  of  Horse  Egan,  who  regarded 
what  he  called  "  trouble  "  of  any  kind  as  the  pinnacle  of 
felicity. 

Dan  answered  not  at  all,  but  crept  on  tiptoe,  with  large 
strides,  to  the  mess-room,  the  men  following.  The  room 
was  empty.  In  a  corner,  cased  like  the  King  of  Dahomey's 
state  umbrella,  stood  the  regimental  colors.  Dan  Hfted  them 
tenderly  and  unrolled  in  the  light  of  the  candles  the  record 
of  the  Mavericks — tattered,  worn,  and  hacked.  The  white 
satin  was  darkened  everywhere  with  big  brown  stains,  the 
gold  threads  on  the  crowned  harp  were  frayed  and  dis- 
colored, and  the  red  bull,  the  totem  of  the  Mavericks,  was 
coffee-hued.  The  stiff,  embroidered  folds,  whose  price  is 
human  life,  rustled  down  slowly.  The  Mavericks  keep  their 
colors  long  and  guard  them  very  sacredly. 

"  Vittoria,  Salamanca,  Toulouse,  Waterloo,  Moodkee, 
Ferozshah,  and  Sobraon — that  was  fought  close  next  door 
here,  against  the  very  beggars  he  wants  as  to  join.  Inker- 
mann,  the  Alma,  Sebastopol!  What  are  those  little  busi- 
nesses compared  to  the  campaigns  of  General  Mulcahy? 
The  mut'ny,  think  o'  that;  the  mutn'y  an'  some  dirty  little 
matters  in  Afghanistan,  and  for  that  an'  these  and  those  "-^ 
Dan  pointed  to  the  names  of  glorious  battles — "  that  Yankee 
man  with  the  partin'  in  his  hair  comes  and  says  as  easy  as 
'have  a  drink'  .   .  .  holy  Moses!   there's  the  captain!" 


74  THE  MUTINY  OF   THE  MAVERICKS. 

But  it  was  the  mess-sergeant  who  came  in  just  as  the  men 
clattered  out,  and  found  the  colors  uncased. 

From  that  day  dated  the  mutiny  of  the  Mavericks,  to  the 
joy  of  Mulcahy  and  the  pride  of  his  mother  in  New  York — the 
good  lady  who  sent  the  money  for  the  beer.  Never,  as  far 
as  words  went,  was  such  a  mutiny.  The  conspirators,  led  by 
Dan  Grady  and  Horse  Egan,  poured  in  daily.  They  were 
sound  men,  men  to  be  trusted,  and  they  all  wanted  blood ; 
but  first  they  must  have  beer.  They  cursed  the  queen,  they 
mourned  over  Ireland,  they  suggested  hideous  plunder  of  the 
Indian  country  side,  and  then,  alas — some  of  the  younger 
men  would  go  forth  and  wallow  on  the  ground  in  spasms  of 
unholv  laughter.  The  genius  of  the  Irish  for  conspiracies 
is  remarkable.  None  the  less  they  would  swear  no  oaths 
but  those  of  their  own  making,  which  were  rare  and  curious, 
and  they  were  always  at  pains  to  impress  Mulcahy  with  the 
risks  they  ran.  Naturally  the  flood  of  beer  wrought  demoral- 
ization. But  Mulcahy  confused  the  causes  of  things,  and 
when  a  pot-valiant  Maverick  smote  a  servant  on  the  nose  or 
tailed  his  commanding  officer  a  bald-headed  old  lard- bladder 
and  even  worse  names,  he  fancied  that  rebellion  and  not 
liquor  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  outbreak.  Other  gentlemen 
who  have  concerned  themselves  in  larger  conspiracies  have 
made  the  same  error. 

The  hot  season,  in  which  they  protested  no  man  could 
rebel,  came  to  an  end,  and  Mulcahy  suggested  a  visible  re- 
turn for  his  teachings.  As  to  the  actual  upshot  of  the  mutiny, 
he  cared  nothing.  It  would  be  enough  if  the  English,  in- 
fatuatedly  trusting  to  the  integrity  of  their  army,  should  be 
startled  with  news  of  an  Irish  regiment  revolting  from  poUt- 
ical  considerations.  His  persistent  demands  would  have 
ended,  at  Dan's  instigation,  in  a  regimental  belting  which  in 
all  probability  would  have  killed  him  and  cut  off  the  supply 
of  beer,  had  not  he  been  sent  on  special  duty  some  fifty 


THE   MUTIXY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  75 

miles  away  from  the  cantonment  to  cool  his  heels  in  a  mud 
fort  and  dismount  obsolete  artillery.  Then  the  colonel  of  the 
Mavericks,  reading  his  newspaper  diligently  and  scenting 
frontier  trouble  from  afar,  posted  to  the  army  headquarters  and 
pleaded  with  the  commander-in-chief  for  certain  privileges, 
to  be  granted  under  certain  contingencies;  which  contingen- 
cies came  about  only  a  week  later  when  the  annual  little  war 
on  the  border  developed  itself  and  the  colonel  returned  to 
carry  the  good  news  to  the  Mavericks.  He  held  the  prom- 
ise of  the  chief  for  active  service,  and  the  men  must  get 
ready. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Mulcahy,  an  unconsid- 
ered corporal — yet  great  in  conspiracy — returned  to  canton- 
ments, and  heard  sounds  of  strife  and  howlings  from  afar 
off.  The  mutiny  had  broken  out  and  the  barracks  of  the 
Mavericks  were  one  whitewashed  pandemonium.  A  private 
tearing  through  the  barrack-square  gasped  in  his  ear,  "  Ser- 
vice! Active  service!  It's  a  burnin'  shame."  Oh,  joy,  the 
Mavericks  had  risen  on  the  eve  of  battle !  They  would  not 
— noble  and  loyal  sons  of  Ireland — serve  the  queen  longer. 
The  news  would  flash  through  the  country  side  and  over  to 
England,  and  he — Mulcahy — the  trusted  of  the  Third  Three, 
had  brought  about  the  crash.  The  private  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  square  and  cursed  colonel,  regiment,  officers,  and 
doctor,  particularly  the  doctor,  by  his  gods.  An  orderly  of 
the  native  cavalry  regiment  clattered  through  the  mob  of 
soldiers.  He  was  half-lifted,  half-dragged  from  his  horse, 
beaten  on  the  back  with  mighty  hand-claps  till  his  eyes 
watered,  and  called  all  manner  of  endearing  names.  Yes, 
the  Mavericks  had  fraternized  with  the  native  troops.  Who, 
then,  was  the  agent  among  the  latter  that  had  blindly  wrought 
with  Mulcahy  so  well? 

An  officer  slunk,  almost  ran,  from  the  mess  to  a  barrack. 
He  was  mobbed  by  the  infuriated  soldiery,  who  closed  round 


76  THE   MUTINY  OF    THE  MAVERICKS. 

but  did  not  kill  him,  for  he  fought  his  way  to  shelter,  flying  for 
the  life.  Mulcahy  could  have  wept  with  pure  joy  and  thank- 
fulness. The  very  prisoners  in  the  guard-room  were  shaking 
the  bars  of  their  cells  and  howling  like  wild  beasts,  and  from 
every  barrack  poured  the  booming  as  of  a  big  war-drum. 

Mulcahy  hastened  to  his  own  barrack.  He  could  hardly 
hear  himself  speak.  Eighty  men  were  pounding  with  fist 
and  heel  the  tables  and  trestles — eighty  men  flushed  with 
mutiny,  stripped  to  their  shirt-sleeves,  their  knapsacks  half- 
packed  for  the  march  to  the  sea,  made  the  two-inch  boards 
thunder  again  as  they  chanted  to  a  tune  that  Mulcahy  knew 
well,  the  Sacred  War  Song  of  the  Mavericks : 

"  Listen  in  the  north,  my  boys,  there's  trouble  on  the  wind  ; 
Tramp  o'  Cossack  hooves  in  front,  gray  great-coats  behind. 
Trouble  on  the  frontier  of  a  most  amazin'  kind, 
Trouble  on  the  water  o'  the  Oxus  !  " 

Then  as  a  table  broke  under  the  furious  accompaniment: 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  it's  north  by  west  we  go  ; 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  the  chance  we  wanted  so  ; 
Let  'em  hear  the  chorus  from  Umballa  to  Moscow, 
As  we  go  marching  to  the  Kremling." 

"  Mother  of  all  the  saints  in  bliss  and  all  the  devils  in 
cinders,  where's  my  fine  new  sock  widout  the  heel?  "  howled 
Horse  Egan,  ransacking  everybody's  knapsack  but  his  own. 
He  was  engaged  in  making  up  deficiencies  of  kit  preparatory 
to  a  campaign,  and  in  that  employ,  he  steals  best  who  steals 
last.  "Ah,  Mulcahy,  you're  in  good  time,"  he  shouted. 
"We've  got  the  route,  and  we're  off  on  Thursday  for  a  pic- 
nic wid  the  Lancers  next  door.'' 

An  ambulance  orderly  appeared  with  a  huge  basket  full  of 
lint  rolls,  provided  by  the  forethought  of  the  queen,  for  such 
as  might  need  them  later  on.  Horse  Egan  unrolled  his 
bandage  and  flicked  it  under  Mulcahy's  nose,  chanting: 


THE   MUTINY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  77 

**  *  Sheep's  skin  an'  bees'  wax,  thunder,  pitch,  and  plaster  ; 
The  more  you  try  to  pull  it  off,  the  more  it  sticks  the  faster. 
As  I  was  goin*  to  New  Orleans ' 

"  You  know  the  rest  of  it,  my  Irish-American-Jew  boy. 
By  gad,  ye  have  to  fight  for  the  queen  in  the  inside  av  3 
fortnight,  my  darhn'." 

A  roar  of  laughter  interrupted.  Mulcahy  looked  vacantly 
down  the  room.  Bid  a  boy  defy  his  father  when  the  pan- 
tomime-cab is  at  the  door,  or  a  girl  develop  a  will  of  her 
ov/n  when  her  mother  is  putting  the  last  touches  to  the  first 
ball  dress;  but  do  not  ask  an  Irish  regiment  to  embark  upon 
mutiny  on  the  eve  of  a  campaign ;  when  it  has  fraternized 
with  the  native  regiment  that  accompanies  it,  and  driven  its 
officers  into  retirement  with  ten  thousand  clamorous  ques- 
tions, and  the  prisoners  dance  for  joy,  and  the  sick  men  stand 
in  the  open  calling  down  all  known  diseases  on  the  head  of 
the  doctor  who  has  certified  that  they  are  "  medically  unfit 
for  active  service."  At  even  the  Mavericks  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  mutineers  by  one  so  unversed  in  their  natures 
as  Mulcahy.  At  dawn  a  girls'  school  might  have  learned  de- 
portment from  them.  They  knew  that  their  colonel's  hand  had 
closed,  and  that  he  who  broke  that  iron  discipline  would  not 
go  to  the  front.  Nothing  in  the  world  will  persuade  one  of 
our  soldiers  when  he  is  ordered  to  the  north  on  the  smallest 
of  affairs,  that  he  is  not  immediately  going  gloriously  to  slay 
Cossacks  and  cook  his  kettles  in  the  palace  of  the  czar. 
A  few  of  the  younger  men  mourned  for  Mulcahy's  beer,  be- 
cause the  campaign  was  to  be  conducted  on  strict  temper- 
ance principles,  but,  as  Dan  and  Horse  Egan  said  sternly, 
"  We've  got  the  beerman  with  us;  he  shall  drink  now  on  his 
own  hook." 

Mulcahy  had  not  taken  into  account  the  possibility  of 
being  sent  on  active  service.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  not  go  under  any  circumstances,  but  fortune  was 
against  him. 


78  THE   MUTINY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS. 

"  Sick — you?  "  said  the  doctor,  who  had  served  an  unholy 
apprenticeship  to  his  trade  in  Tralee  poor-houses.  "  You're 
only  home-sick,  and  what  you  call  varicose  veins  come  from 
overeating.  A  little  gentle  exercise  will  cure  that."  And 
later:  "  Mulcahy,  my  man,  everybody  is  allowed  to  apply 
for  a  sick  certificate  once.  If  he  tries  it  twice  we  call  him  by 
an  ugly  name.  Go  back  to  your  duty,  and  let's  hear  no 
more  of  your  diseases." 

I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  Horse  Egan  enjoyed  the  study 
of  Mulcahy's  soul  in  those  days,  and  Dan  took  an  equal  in- 
terest. Together  they  would  communicate  to  their  corporal 
all  the  dark  lore  of  death  that  is  the  portion  of  those  who 
have  seen  men  die.  Egan  had  the  larger  experience,  but 
Dan  the  finer  imagination.  Mulcahy  shivered  when  the 
former  spoke  of  the  knife  as  an  intimate  acquaintance,  or 
the  latter  dwelt  with  loving  particularity  on  the  fate  of  those 
who,  wounded  and  helpless,  had  been  overlooked  by  the 
ambulances,  and  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Afghan 
women-folk. 

Mulcahy  knew  that  the  mutiny,  for  the  present  at  least, 
was  dead.  Knew,  too,  that  a  change  had  come  over  Dan's 
usually  respectful  attitude  toward  him,  and  Horse  Egan's 
laughter  and  frequent  allusions  to  abortive  conspiracies  em- 
phasized all  that  the  conspirator  had  guessed.  The  horrible 
fascination  of  the  death-stories,  however,  made  him  seek 
their  society.  He  learnt  much  more  than  he  had  bargained 
for;  and  in  this  manner.  It  was  on  the  last  night  before  the 
regiment  entrained  to  the  front.  The  barracks  were  stripped 
of  everything  movable,  and  the  men  were  too  excited  to 
sleep.  The  bare  walls  gave  out  a  heavy  hospital  smell  of 
chloride  of  lime — a  stench  that  depresses  the  soul. 

"And  what,"  said  Mulcahy  in  an  awe-stricken  whisper, 
after  some  conversation  on  the  eternal  subject,  "are  you 
going  to  do  to  me,  Dan?"  This  might  have  been  the  lan- 
guage of  an  able  conspirator  conciliating  a  weak  spirit. 


THE   MUTINY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  79 

"You'll  see,"  said  Dan,  grimly  turning  over  in  his  cot,  "or 
I  rather  shud  say  you'll  not  see." 

This  was  hardly  the  language  of  a  weak  spirit.  Mulcahy 
shook  under  the  bedclothes. 

"  Be  easy  with  him,"  put  in  Egan  from  the  next  cot.  "  He 
has  got  his  chanst  o'  goin'  clean.  Listen,  Mulcahy:  all  we 
want  is  for  the  good  sake  of  the  regiment  that  you  take  your 
death  standing  up,  as  a  man  shud.  There  be  heaps  an' 
heaps  of  enemy — plenshus  heaps.  Go  there  an'  do  all  you 
can  and  die  decent.  You'll  die  with  a  good  name  there, 
'Tis  not  a  hard  thing  considerin'." 

Again  Mulcahy  shivered. 

"And  how  could  a  man  wish  to  die  better  than  fightin'?" 
added  Dan  consolingly. 

"And  if  I  won't?  "  said  the  corporal  in  a  dry  whisper. 

"There'll  be  a  dale  of  smoke,"  returned  Dan,  sitting  up 
and  ticking  off  the  situation  on  his  fingers,  "  sure  to  be,  an' 
the  noise  of  the  firin'  '11  be  tremenjus,  an'  we'll  be  running 
about  up  and  down,  the  regiment  will.  But  we.  Horse  and 
I — we'll  stay  by  you,  Mulcahy,  and  never  let  you  go.  IVTay- 
be  there'll  be  an  accident." 

"  It's  playing  it  low  on  me.  Let  me  go.  For  pity's  sake 
let  me  go.  I  never  did  you  harm,  and — and  I  stood  you  as 
much  beer  as  I  could.  Oh,  don't  be  hard  on  me,  Dan.  You 
are — you  were  in  it,  too.  You  won't  kill  me  up  there,  will 
you?" 

"  I'm  not  thinkin'  of  the  treason ;  though  you  shud  be  glad 
any  honest  boys  drank  with  you.  It's  for  the  regiment.  We 
can't  have  the  shame  o'  you  bringin'  shame  on  us.  You 
went  to  the  doctor  quiet  as  a  sick  cat  to  get  and  stay  behind 
an'  live  with  the  women  at  the  depot — you  that  wanted  us 
to  run  to  the  sea  in  wolf-packs  like  the  rebels  none  of  your 
black  blood  dared  to  be!  But  we  knew  about  your  goin' 
to  the  doctor,  for  he  told  it  in  mess,  and  it's  all  over  the  reg- 


^O  THE  MUTINY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS. 

iment.  Bein'  as  we  are,  your  best  friends,  we  didn't  allow 
any  one  to  molest  you  yet.  We  will  see  to  you  ourselves. 
Fight  which  you  will — us  or  the  enemy — you'll  never  lie  in 
that  cot  again,  and  there's  more  glory  and  maybe  less  kicks 
from  fighting  the  enemy.     That's  fair  speakin'." 

"And  he  told  us  by  word  of  mouth  to  go  and  join  with 
the  niggers — you've  forgotten  that,  Dan,"  said  Horse  Egan, 
to  justify  sentence. 

"What's  the  use  of  plaguin'  the  man?  One  shot  pays  for 
all.  Sleep  ye  sound,  Mulcahy.  But  you  onderstand,  do  ye 
not?" 

Mulcahy  for  some  weeks  understood  very  little  of  anything 
at  all  save  that  ever  at  his  elbow,  in  camp,  or  at  parade, 
stood  two  big  men  with  soft  voices  adjuring  him  to  commit 
hari-kari  lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen — to  die  for  the 
honor  of  the  regiment  in  deceny  among  the  nearest  knives. 
But  Mulcahy  dreaded  death.  He  remembered  certain 
things  that  priests  had  said  in  his  infancy,  and  his  mother — 
not  the  one  at  New  York — starting  from  her  sleep  with 
shrieks  to  pray  for  a  husband's  soul  in  torment.  It  is  well 
to  be  of  a  cultured  intelligence,  but  in  time  of  trouble  the 
weak  human  mind  returns  to  the  creed  it  sucked  in  at  the 
breast,  and  if  that  creed  be  not  a  pretty  one  trouble  follows. 
Also,  the  death  he  would  have  to  face  would  be  physically 
painful.  Most  conspirators  have  large  imaginations.  Mul- 
cahy could  see  himself,  as  he  lay  on  the  earth  in  the  night, 
dying  by  various  causes.  They  were  all  horrible ;  the  mother 
in  New  York  was  very  far  away,  and  the  regiment,  the  en- 
gine that,  once  you  fall  in  its  grip,  moves  you  forward  whether 
you  will  or  won't,  was  daily  coming  closer  to  the  enemy ! 

******  k 

They  were  brought  to  the  field  of  Marzun-Katai,  and  with 
the  Black  Boneens  to  aid,  they  fought  a  fight  that  has  never 
been  set  down  in  the  newspapers.     In  response,  many  be- 


THE   MUTIXY    OF    THE   MA  VESICA'S.  8i 

lieve,  to  the  fervent  ])ravers  of  Father  Dennis,  the  enemy 
not  only  elected  to  fight  in  the  open,  but  made  a  beautiful 
fight,  as  many  weeping  Irish  mothers  knew  later.  They 
gathered  behind  walls  or  flickered  across  the  open  in  shout- 
ing masses,  and  were  pot-valiant  in  artillery.  It  was  expedi- 
ent to  hold  a  large  reserve  and  wait  for  the  psychological 
moment  that  was  being  prepared  by  the  shrieking  shrapnel. 
Therefore  the  Mavericks  lay  down  in  open  order  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill  to  watch  the  play  till  their  call  should  come. 
Father  Dennis,  whose  place  was  in  the  rear,  to  smooth  the 
trouble  of  the  wounded,  had  naturally  managed  to  make  his 
way  to  the  foremost  of  his  boys,  and  lay,  like  a  black  por- 
poise, at  length  on  the  grass.  To  him  crawled  Mulcahy, 
ashen-gray,  demanding  absolution. 

"Wait  till  you're  shot,"  said  Father  Dennis  sweetly. 
"There's  a  time  for  everything." 

Dan  Grady  chuckled  as  he  blew  for  the  fiftieth  time  into 
the  breech  of  his  speckless  rifle.  Mulcahy  groaned  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  arms  till  a  stray  shot  spoke  like  a 
snipe  immediately  above  his  head,  and  a  general  heave  and 
tremor  rippled  the  line.  Other  shots  followed  and  a  few 
took  effect,  as  a  shriek  or  a  grunt  attested.  The  officers, 
who  had  been  lying  down  with  the  men,  rose  and  began  to 
walk  steadily  up  and  down  the  front  of  tiieir  companies. 

This  manoeuvre,  executed  not  for  publication,  but  as  a 
guarantee  of  good  faith,  to  soothe  men,  demands  nerve.  You 
must  not  hurry,  you  must  not  look  nervous,  though  you  know 
that  you  are  a  mark  for  every  rifle  within  extreme  range; 
and,  above  all,  if  you  are  smitten  you  must  make  as  little 
noise  as  possible  and  roll  inward  through  the  files.  It  is  at 
this  hour,  when  the  breeze  brings  the  first  salt  whiff  of  the 
powder  to  noses  rather  cold  at  the  tips  and  the  eye  can 
quietly  take  in  the  appearance  of  ench  red  casualty,  that  the 
strain  on  the  nerves  is  stronfjest.  Scotch  regiments  can  en- 
6 


Bl  THE  MUTINY  OF    THE   MAVERICKS. 

dure  for  half  a  day  and  abate  no  whit  of  their  zeal  at  the 
end;  English  regiments  sometimes  sulk  under  punishment, 
while  the  Irish,  like  the  French,  are  apt  to  run  forward  by  ones 
and  twos,  which  is  just  as  bad  as  running  back.  The  truly 
wise  commandant  of  highly-strung  troops  allows  them  in 
seasons  of  waiting  to  hear  the  sound  of  their  own  voices  up- 
lifted in  song.  There  is  a  legend  of  an  English  regiment 
that  lay  by  its  arms  under  fire  chanting  "  Sam  Hall,"  to  the 
horror  of  its  newly-appointed  and  pious  colonel.  The  Black 
Boneens,  who  were  suffering  more  than  the  Mavericks,  on  a 
hill  half  a  mile  away,  began  presently  to  explain  to  all  who 
cared  to  hsten — 

"  We'll  sound  the  jubilee,  from  the  centre  to  the  sea, 
And  Ireland  shall  be  free,  says  the  Shan-van  Vogh." 

"  Sing,  boys,"  said  Father  Dennis  softly.  "  It  looks  as  if 
we  cared  for  their  Afghan  peas." 

Dan  Grady  raised  himself  to  his  knees  and  opened  his 
mouth  in  a  song  imparted  to  him,  as  to  most  of  his  comrades, 
in  the  strictest  confidence  by  Mulcahy — that  Mulcahy  then 
lying  limp  and  fainting  on  the  grass,  the  chill  fear  of  death 
upon  him. 

Company  after  company  caught  up  the  words  which,  the 
I.  A.  A.  say,  are  to  herald  the  general  rising  of  Erin,  and  to 
breathe  which,  except  to  those  duly  appointed  to  hear,  is 
death.     Wherefore  they  are  printed  in  this  place. 

*'  The  Saxon  in  heaven's  just  balance  is  weighed, 

His  doom,  like  Belshazzar's,  in  death  has  been  cast, 
And  the  hand  of  the  'venger  shall  never  be  stayed 

Till  his  race,  faith,  and  speech  are  a  dream  of  the  past." 

They  were  heart-filling  lines  and  they  ran  with  a  swirl;  the 
I.  A.  A.  are  better  served  by  pens  than  their  petards.  Dan 
clapped  Mulcahy  merrily  on  the  back,  asking  him  to  sing  up. 
The  officers  lay  down  again.     There  was  no  need  to  walk 


THE   MUTINY   OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  83 

any  more.     Their  men  were  soothing  themselves  thunder- 
ously, thus: 

"  St.  Mary  in  heaven  has  written  the  vow 

That  the  land  shall  not  rest  till  the  heretic  blood, 
From  the  babe  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the  plough, 
Has  rolled  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood  ! " 

"  rU  speak  to  you  after  all's  over,"  said  Father  Dennis 
authoritatively  in  Dan's  ear.  "  What's  the  use  of  confessing 
to  me  when  you  do  this  foohshness?  Dan,  you've  been 
playing  with  fire!  I'll  lay  you  more  penance  in  a  week 
than " 

"  Come  along  to  purgatory  with  us,  Father,  dear.  The 
Boneens  are  on  the  move;  they'll  let  us  go  now!  " 

The  regiment  rose  to  the  blast  of  the  bugle  as  one  man ; 
but  one  man  there  was  who  rose  more  swiftly  than  all  the 
others,  for  half  an  inch  of  bayonet  was  in  the  fleshy  part  of 
his  leg. 

"  You've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Dan  grimly.  "  Do  it  decent, 
anyhow;  "  and  the  roar  of  the  rush  drowned  his  words  as  the 
rear  companies  thrust  forward  the  first,  still  singing  as  they 
swung  down  the  slope : 

*'  From  the  child  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the  plough 
Shall  roll  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood  !  " 

They  should  have  sung  it  in  the  face  of  England,  not  of 
the  Afghans,  whom  it  impressed  as  much  as  did  the  wild 
Irish  yell. 

"  They  came  down  singing,"  said  the  unofficial  report  of 
the  enemy,  borne  from  village  to  village  next  day.  "They 
continued  to  sing,  and  it  was  written  that  our  men  could  not 
abide  when  they  came.  It  is  believed  that  there  was  magic 
in  the  aforesaid  song." 

Dan  and  Horse  Egan  kept  tliemselvcs  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Mulcahy.     Twice  the  man  would  have  bolted  back 


84  THE   MUTIXY   OF    THE   MAVERICKS. 

in  the  confusion.  Twice  he  was  heaved  Hke  a  half-drowned 
kitten  into  the  unpaintable  inferno  of  a  hotly-contested 
charge. 

At  the  end,  the  panic  excess  of  his  fear  drove  him  into 
madness  beyond  all  human  courage.  His  eyes  staring  at 
nothing,  his  mouth  open  and  frothing,  and  breathing  as  one 
in  a  cold  bath,  he  went  forward  demented,  while  Dan  toiled 
after  him.  The  charge  was  checked  at  a  high  mud  wall.  It 
was  Mulcahy  that  scrambled  up  tooth  and  nail  and  heaved 
down  among  the  bayonets  the  amazed  Afghan  who  barred 
his  way.  It  was  Mulcahy,  keeping  to  the  straight  line  of  the 
rabid  dog,  led  a  collection  of  ardent  souls  at  a  newly  un- 
masked battery  and  flung  himself  on  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  as 
his  companions  danced  among  the  gunners.  It  was  Mul- 
cahy who  ran  wildly  on  from  that  battery  into  the  open  plain 
where  the  enemy  were  retiring  in  sullen  groups.  His  hands 
were  empty,  he  had  lost  helmet  and  belt,  and  he  was  bleed- 
ing from  a  wound  in  the  neck.  Dan  and  Horse  Egan,  pant- 
ing and  distressed,  had  thrown  themselves  down  on  the 
ground  by  the  captured  guns,  when  they  noticed  Mulcahy's 
flight. 

"Mad,"  said  Horse  Egan  critically.  "Mad  with  fear! 
He's  going  straight  to  his  death,  an'  shouting's  no  use." 

"  Let  him  go.  Watch  now!  If  we  fire  we'll  hit  him  may- 
be." 

The  last  of  a  hurrying  crowd  of  Afghans  turned  at  the 
noise  of  shod  feet  behind  him,  and  shifted  his  knife  ready 
to  hand.  This,  he  saw,  was  no  time  to  take  prisoners. 
Mulcahy  ran  on,  sobbing,  and  the  straight-held  blade  went 
home  through  the  defenceless  breast,  and  the  body  pitched 
forward  almost  before  a  shot  from  Dan's  rifle  brought  down 
the  slayer  and  still  further  hurried  the  Afghan  retreat.  The 
two  Irishmen  went  out  to  bring  in  their  dead. 

"  He  was  given  the  point  and  that  was  an  easy  death,"  said 


THE   MUTINY   OF    THE   MAVERICKS.  85 

Horse  Egan,  viewing  the  corpse.  "  But  would  you  ha'  shot 
him,  Danny,  if  he  had  Uved?  " 

"  He  didn't  live,  so  there's  no  sayin'.  But  I  doubt  I  wud 
have  bekase  of  the  fun  he  gave  us — let  alone  the  beer.  Hike 
11])  his  legs,  Horse,  and  we'll  bring  him  in.  Perhaps  'tis  bet- 
ter this  way." 

They  bore  the  poor  limp  body  to  the  mass  of  the  regiment, 
lolling  open-mouthed  on  their  rifles;  and  there  was  a  general 
snigger  when  one  of  the  younger  subalterns  said:  "That 
was  a  good  man!  " 

"  Phew!  "  said  Horse  Egan,  when  a  burial  party  had  taken 
over  the  burden.  "  I'm  powerful  dhry,  and  this  reminds  me, 
there'll  be  no  more  beer  at  all." 

"Fwhynot?"  said  Dan,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he 
stretched  himself  for  rest.  "Are  we  not  conspirin'  all  we 
can,  an'  while  we  conspire  are  we  not  entitled  to  free  dhrinks? 
Sure  his  ould  mother  in  New  York  would  not  let  her  son's 
comrades  perish  of  drouth — if  she  can  be  reached  at  the  end 
of  a  letter." 

"  You're  a  janius,"  said  Horse  Egan.  "  O'  coorse  she  will 
not.  I  wish  this  crool  war  was  over,  an  we'd  get  back  to 
canteen.  Faith,  the  commander-in-chief  ought  to  be  hanged 
in  his  own  little  sword-belt  for  makin'  us  work  on  wather." 

The  Mavericks  were  generally  of  Horse  Egan's  opinion. 
So  they  made  haste  to  get  their  work  done  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, and  their  industry  was  rewarded  by  unexpected  peace. 
"We  can  fight  the  sons  of  Adam,"  said  the  tribesmen,  "but 
we  cannot  fight  the  sons  of  F^blis,  and  this  regiment  never 
stays  still  in  one  place.  Let  us  therefore  come  in."  They 
came  in,  and  "  this  regiment  "  withdrew  to  conspire  under  the 
leadership  of  Dan  Grady. 

Excellent  as  a  subordiante,  Dan  failed  altogether  as  a 
chief-in-command — possibly  because  he  was  too  much  swayed 
by  the  advice  of  the  only  man  in  the  regiment  who   could 


86  THE  MUTINY  OF   THE   MAVERICKS. 

perpetrate  more  than  one  kind  of  handwriting.  The  same 
mail  that  bore  to  Mulcahy's  mother  in  New  York  a  letter 
from  the  colonel  telling  her  how  valiantly  her  son  had  fought 
for  the  queen,  and  how  assuredly  he  would  have  been  rec- 
ommended for  the  Victoria  Cross  had  he  survived,  carried 
a  communication  signed,  I  grieve  to  say,  by  that  same  col- 
onel and  all  the  officers  of  the  regiment,  explaining  their 
willingness  to  do  "  anything  which  is  contrary  to  the  regula- 
tions and  all  kinds  of  revolutions  "  if  only  a  little  money 
could  be  forwarded  to  cover  incidental  expenses,  Daniel 
Grady,  Esquire,  would  receive  funds,  vice  Mulcahy,  who  "  was 
unwell  at  this  present  time  of  writing." 

Both  letters  were  forwarded  from  New  York  to  Tehama 
Street,  San  Francisco,  with  marginal  comments  as  brief  as 
they  were  bitter.  The  Third  Three  read  and  looked  at  each 
other.  Then  the  Second  Conspirator — he  who  believed  in 
"joining  hands  with  the  practical  branches" — began  to 
laugh,  and  on  recovering  his  gravity  said,  "  Gentlemen,  I 
consider  this  will  be  a  lesson  to  us.  We're  left  again.  Those 
cursed  Irish  have  let  us  down.  I  knew  they  would,  but " — 
here  he  laughed  afresh — "  I'd  give  considerable  to  know  what 
was  at  the  back  of  it  all." 

His  curiosity  would  have  been  satisfied  had  he  seen  Dan 
Grady,  discredited  regimental  conspirator,  trying  to  explain 
to  his  thirsty  comrades  in  India  the  non-arrival  of  funds  from 
New  York. 


AT  THE  END  OF  THE  PASSAGE. 


AT  THE  END  OF  THE  PASSAGE. 


Four  men,  theoretically  entitled  to  "life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness,"  sat  at  a  table  playing  whist.  The 
thermometer  marked — for  them — one  hundred  and  one  de- 
grees of  heat.  The  room  was  darkened  till  it  was  only  just 
possible  to  distinguish  the  pips  of  the  cards  and  the  very 
white  faces  of  the  players.  A  tattered,  rotten  punkah  of 
whitewashed  calico  was  puddling  the  hot  air  and  whining 
dolefully  at  each  stroke.  Outside  lay  gloom  of  a  November 
day  in  London.  There  was  neither  sky,  sun,  nor  horizon — 
nothing  but  a  brown-purple  haze  of  heat.  It  was  as  though 
the  earth  were  dying  of  apoplexy. 

From  time  to  time  clouds  of  tawny  dust  rose  from  the 
ground  without  wind  or  warning,  flung  themselves  table-cloth- 
wise  among  the  tops  of  the  parched  trees,  and  came  down 
again.  Then  a  whirling  dust-devil  would  scutter  across  the 
plain  for  a  couple  of  miles,  break,  and  fall  outward,  though 
there  was  nothing  to  check  its  flight  save  a  long  low  line  of 
piled  railway-sleepers  white  with  the  dust,  a  cluster  of  huts 
made  of  mud,  condemned  rails,  and  canvas,  and  the  one 
squat  four-roomed  bungalow  that  belonged  to  the  assistant 
engineer  in  charge  of  a  section  of  the  Gandhari  State  line 
then  under  construction. 

The  four  men,  stripped  to  the  thinnest  of  sleeping-suit, 
played  whist  crossly,  with  wranglings  as  to  leads  and  returns. 
It  was  not  the  best  kind  of  whist,  but  they  had  taken  some 


go  AT  THE  END   OF    THE  PASSAGE. 

trouble  to  arrive  at  it.  Mottram,  of  the  Indian  Survey,  had 
ridden  thirty  and  railed  one  hundred  miles  from  his  lonely 
post  in  the  desert  since  the  previous  night;  Lowndes,  of  the 
Civil  Service,  on  special  duty  in  the  political  department,  had 
come  as  far  to  escape  for  an  instant  the  miserable  intrigues 
of  an  impoverished  native  state  whose  king  alternately  fawned 
and  blustered  for  more  money  from  the  pitiful  revenues  con- 
tributed by  hard-wrung  peasants  and  despairing  camel- 
breeders  ;  Spurstow,  the  doctor  of  the  Hne,  had  left  a  cholera- 
stricken  camp  of  coolies  to  look  after  itself  for  forty-eight 
hours  while  he  associated  with  white  men  once  more.  Hum- 
mil,  the  assistant  engineer,  was  the  host.  He  stood  fast  and 
received  his  friends  thus  every  Sunday  if  they  could  come  in. 
AVhen  one  of  them  failed  to  appear,  he  would  send  a  telegram 
to  his  last  address,  in  order  that  he  might  know  whether  the 
defaulter  was  dead  or  alive.  There  be  very  many  places  in 
the  East  where  it  is  not  good  or  kind  to  let  your  acquaint- 
aiices  drop  out  of  sight  even  for  one  short  week. 

The  players  were  not  conscious  of  any  special  regard  for 
each  other.  They  squabbled  whenever  they  met;  but  they 
ardently  desired  to  meet,  as  men  without  water  desire  to 
drink.  They  were  lonely  folk  who  understood  the  dread 
meaning  of  loneliness.  They  were  all  under  thirty  years  of 
age — which  is  too  soon  for  any  man  to  possess  that  knowl- 
edge. 

"  Pilsener,"  said  Spurstow,  after  the  second  rubber,  mop- 
ping his  forehead. 

"  Beer's  out,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  there's  hardly  enough 
soda-water  for  to-night,"  said  Hummil. 

"What  filthy  bad  management!  "  snarled  Spurstow. 

"  Can' t  help  it.  I've  written  and  wired ;  but  the  trains 
don't  come  through  regularly  yet.  Last  week  the  ice  ran 
out — as  Lowndes  knows." 

"  Glad  I  didn't  come.     I  could  ha'  sent  you  some  if  I  had 


AT    THE   END    OF    THE   PASSAGE.  9 1 

known,  though.  Phew!  it's  too  hot  to  go  on  playing  bum- 
blepuppy." 

This  with  a  savage  scowl  at  Lowndes,  who  only  laughed. 
He  was  a  hardened  offender. 

Mottram  rose  from  the  table  and  looked  out  of  a  chink  in 
the  shutters. 

"  What  a  sweet  day!  "  said  he. 

The  company  yawned  unanimously  and  betook  themselves 
to  an  aimless  investigation  of  all  Hummil's  possessions — 
guns,  tattered  novels,  saddlery,  spurs,  and  the  like  They 
had  fingered  them  score  of  times  before,  but  there  was 
really  nothing  else  to  do. 

"Got  anything  fresh?''   said  Lowndes. 

"  Last  week's  Gazette  of  J7id'ia^  and  a  cutting  from  a  home 
paper.     My  father  sent  it  out.     It's  rather  amusing." 

"One  of  those  vestrymen  that  call  'emselves  M.P.'s  again, 
is  it?"  said  Spurstow,  who  read  his  newspapers  when  he 
could  get  them. 

"  Yes.  Listen  to  this.  It's  to  your  address,  Lowndes. 
The  man  was  making  a  speech  to  his  constituents,  and  he 
piled  it  on.  Here's  a  sample:  'And  I  assert  unhesitatingly 
that  the  Civil  Service  in  India  is  the  preserve — the  pet  pre- 
serve— of  the  aristocracy  of  England.  What  does  the  democ- 
racy— what  do  the  masses — get  from  that  country,  which  we 
have  step  by  step  fraudulently  annexed?  I  answer,  noth- 
ing whatever.  It  is  farmed  with  a  single  eye  to  their  own 
interests  by  the  scions  of  the  aristocracy.  They  take  good 
care  to  maintain  their  lavish  scale  of  incomes,  to  avoid  or 
stifle  any  inquiries  into  the  nature  and  conduct  of  their  ad- 
ministration, while  they  themselves  force  the  unhappy  peas- 
ant to  pay  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow  for  all  the  luxuries  in 
which  they  are  lapped.'  "  Humniil  waved  the  cutting  above 
his  head.      "'Ear!   'ear!  *'   said  his  audience 

Then  Lowndes,  meditatively:   "I'd  give — I'd  give  three 


92  AT   THE  END    OF    THE  PASSAGE. 

months'  pay  to  have  that  gentleman  spend  one  month  with 
me  and  see  how  the  free  and  independent  native  prince 
works  things.  Old  Timbersides  " — this  was  his  flippant  title 
for  an  honored  and  decorated  prince— "has  been  wearing 
my  life  out  this  week  past  for  money.  By  Jove!  his  latest 
performance  was  to  send  me  one  of  his  women  as  a  bribe!  " 

"Good  for  you.     Did  you  accept  it?  "  said  Mottram. 

"  No.  I  rather  wish  I  had,  now.  She  was  a  pretty  little 
person,  and  she  yarned  away  to  me  about  the  horrible  des- 
titution among  the  king's  women-folk.  The  darlings  haven't 
had  any  new  clothes  for  nearly  a  month,  and  the  old  man 
wants  to  buy  a  new  drag  from  Calcutta — solid  silver  railings 
and  silver  lamps,  and  trifles  of  that  kind.  I've  tried  to  make 
him  understand  that  he  has  played  the  deuce  with  the  rev- 
enues for  the  last  twenty  years  and  must  go  slow.  He  can't 
see  it." 

"  But  he  has  the  ancestral  treasure-vaults  to  draw  on. 
There  must  be  three  millions  at  least  in  jewels  and  coin 
under  his  palace,"  said  Hummil. 

"  Catch  a  native  king  disturbing  the  family  treasure !  The 
priests  forbid  it  except  as  the  last  resort.  Old  Timbersides 
has  added  something  like  a  (quarter  of  a  million  to  the  de- 
posit in  his  reign." 

"  Where  the  mischief  does  it  all  come  from  ?  "  said  Mottram. 

"  The  country.  The  state  of  the  people  is  enough  to 
make  you  sick.  I've  known  the  tax-men  wait  by  a  milch- 
camel  till  the  foal  was  born  and  then  hurry  off  the  mother 
for  arrears.  And  what  can  I  do?  I  can't  get  the  court  clerks 
to  give  me  any  accounts;  I  can't  raise  anything  more  than 
a  fat  smile  from  the  commander-in-chief  when  I  find  out  the 
troops  are  three  months  in  arrears;  and  old  Timbersides  be- 
gins to  weep  when  I  speak  to  him.  He  has  taken  to  the 
king's  peg  heavily — liqueur  brandy  for  whiskey  and  Heid- 
sieck  for  soda-water." 


AT   THE   END    OF    THE   PASSAGE  93 

*'  That's  what  the  Rao  of  Jubela  took  to.  Even  a  native 
can't  last  long  at  that,"  said  Spurstow.     "  He'll  go  out." 

"And  a  good  thinoj,  too.  Then  I  suppose  we'll  have  a 
council  of  regency,  and  a  tutor  for  the  young  prince,  and 
hand  him  back  his  kingdom  with  ten  years'  accumula- 
tions." 

"  Whereupon  that  young  prince,  having  been  taught  all 
the  vices  of  the  English,  will  play  ducks  and  drakes  with  the 
money  and  undo  ten  years'  work  in  eighteen  months.  I've 
seen  that  business  before,"  said  Spurstow.  "  I  should  tackle 
the  king  with  a  light  hand,  if  I  were  you,  Lowndes.  They'll 
hate  you  quite  enough  under  any  circumstances." 

•'  That's  all  very  well.  The  man  who  looks  on  can  talk 
about  the  light  hand;  but  you  can't  clean  a  pig-sty  with  a 
pen  dipped  in  rosewater.  1  know  my  risks;  but  nothing  has 
happened  yet.  My  servant's  an  old  Pathan,  and  he  cooks 
for  me.  They  are  hardly  likely  to  bribe  him,  and  I  don't 
accept  food  from  my  true  friends,  as  they  call  themselves. 
Oh,  but  it's  weary  work!  I'd  sooner  be  with  you,  Spurstow. 
There's  shooting  near  your  camp." 

•''Would  you?  I  don't  think  it.  About  fifteen  deaths  a 
day  don't  incite  a  man  to  shoot  anything  but  himself.  And 
.^he  worst  of  it  is  that  the  poor  devils  look  at  you  as  though 
you  ought  to  save  them.  Lord  knows,  I've  tried  everything. 
My  last  attempt  was  empirical,  but  it  pulled  an  old  man 
through.  He  was  brought  to  me  apparently  past  hope,  and 
I  gave  him  gin  and  Worcester  sauce  with  cayenne.  It  cured 
him ;  but  I  don't  recommend  it." 

"  How  do  the  cases  run  generally?  "  said  Hummil. 

"  Very  simply  indeed.  Chlorodyne,  opium  pill,  chlorodyne, 
collapse,  nitre,  bricks  to  the  feet,  and  then — the  burning-ghat. 
The  last  seems  to  be  the  only  thing  that  stops  the  trouble. 
It's  black  cholera,  you  know.  Poor  devils  I  But,  I  will  say, 
little  Bunsee  Lai,  my  apothecary,  works  like  a  demon,      "^'ve 


94  AT   THE  END   OF    THE  PASSAGE. 

recommended  him  for  promotion  if  he  comes  through  it  all 
alive." 

"And  what  are  your  chances,  old  man?"  said  Mottram. 

"Don't  know;  don't  care  much;  but  I've  sent  the  letter 
in.     What  are  you  doing  with  yourself  generally?  " 

"  Sitting  under  a  table  in  the  tent  and  spitting  on  the  sex- 
tant to  keep  it  cool,"  said  the  man  of  the  survey.  "  Washing 
my  eyes  to  avoid  ophthalmia  which  I  shall  certainly  get,  and 
trying  to  make  a  sub  surveyor  understand  that  an  error  of 
five  degrees  in  an  angle  isn't  quite  so  small  as  it  looks.  I'm 
altogether  alone,  y'  know,  and  shall  be  till  the  end  of  the  hot 
weather." 

"  Hummil's  the  lucky  man,"  said  Lowndes,  flinging  him- 
self into  a  long  chair.  "He  has  an  actual  roof — torn  as  to 
the  ceiling-cloth,  but  still  a  roof — over  his  head.  He  sees 
one  train  daily.  He  can  get  beer  and  soda-water  and  ice  it 
when  God  is  good.  He  has  books,  pictures  " — they  were 
torn  from  the  Graphic — "  and  the  society  of  the  excellent 
sub-contractor  Jevins,  besides  the  pleasure  of  receiving  us 
weekly." 

Hummil  smiled  grimly.  "  Yes,  I'm  the  lucky  man,  I  sup- 
pose.    Jevins  is  luckier." 

"How?     Not " 

"  Yes.     Went  out.     Last  Monday." 

^^Ap  seV^  said  Spurstow  quickly,  hinting  the  suspicion 
that  was  in  everybody's  mind.  There  was  no  cholera  near 
Hummil's  section.  Even  fever  gives  a  man  at  least  a  week's 
grace,  and  sudden  death  generally  implied  self-slaughter. 

"  I  judge  no  man  this  weather,"  said  Hummil.  "  He  had 
a  touch  of  the  sun,  I  fancy;  for  last  week,  after  you  fellows 
had  left,  he  came  into  the  veranda  and  told  me  that  he  was 
going  home  to  see  his  wife,  in  Market  Street,  Liverpool,  that 
evening. 

"  I  got  the  apothecary  in  to  look  at  him,  and  we  tried  to 


AT   THE   EXD   OF    THE  PASSAGE.  95 

make  him  lie  down.  After  an  hour  or  two  he  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  said  he  beHeved  he  had  had  a  fit — hoped  he  hadn't  said 
anything  rude.  Jevins  had  a  great  idea  of  bettering  himself 
socially.     He  was  very  like  Chucks  in  his  language." 

''Well?" 

"  Then  he  went  to  his  own  bungalow  and  began  cleaning  a 
rifle.  He  told  the  servant  that  he  was  going  after  buck  in 
the  morning.  Naturally  he  fumbled  with  the  trigger,  and 
shot  himself  through  the  head  accidentally.  The  apothecary 
sent  in  a  report  to  my  chief,  and  Jevins  is  buried  somewhere 
out  there.  Td  have  wired  to  you,  Spurstow,  if  you  could 
have  done  anything/' 

"You're  a  queer  chap,"  said  Mottiam.  "If  yv  •-  :  killed 
the  man  yourself  you  couldn't  have  been  more  quu:  about 
the  business." 

"Good  Lord!  what  does  it  matter?  "  said  Humm.'l  calmly. 
"I've  got  to  do  a  lot  of  his  overseeing  work  in  :;.ddition  to 
my  own.  I'm  the  only  person  that  suffers.  Jevins  is  out  of 
it — by  pure  accident,  of  course,  but  out  of  it.  The  apothe- 
cary was  going  to  write  a  long  screed  on  suicide.  Trust  a 
babu  to  drivel  when  he  gets  the  chance." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  it  go  in  as  suicide?"  said  Lowndes. 

"  No  direct  proof.  A  man  hasn't  many  privileges  in  this 
country,  but  he  might  at  least  be  allowed  to  mishandle  his 
own  rifle.  Besides,  some  day  I  may  need  a  man  to  smother 
up  an  accident  to  myself.  Live  and  let  Hve.  Die  and  let 
die." 

"  You  take  a  pill,"  said  Spurstow,  who  had  been  watching 
Hummil's  white  face  narrowly.  "Take  a  pill,  and  don't  be 
an  ass.  That  sort  of  talk  is  skittles.  Anyhow,  suicide  is 
shirking  your  work.  If  I  was  Job  ten  times  over,  I  should 
be  so  interested  in  what  was  going  to  happen  next  that  I'd 
stay  on  and  watch." 

"Ah!   I've  lost  that  curiosit\- "  said  Hummil. 


96  AT   THE  EXD    OF    THE   PASSAGE. 

"Liver  out  of  order?"  said  Lowndes  feelingly. 

"  No.     Can't  sleep.     That's  worse/' 

"By  Jove,  it  is!"  said  Mottram.  "  Tm  that  way  every  now 
and  then,  and  the  fit  has  to  wear  itself  out.  What  do  you 
take  for  it?" 

"Nothing.  What's  the  use?  I  haven't  had  ten  minutes' 
sleep  since  Friday  morning." 

"  Poor  chap!  Spurstow,  you  ought  to  attend  to  this,"  said 
Mottram.  "  Now  you  mention  it,  your  eyes.are  rather  gummy 
and  swollen." 

Spurstow,  still  watching  Hummil,  laughed  hghtly.  "  I'll 
patch  him  up,  later  on.  Is  it  too  hot,  do  you  think,  to  go 
for  a  ride?  " 

"  Where  to?"  said  Lowndes  wearily.  "We  shall  have  to 
go  away  at  eight,  and  there'll  be  riding  enough  for  us  then. 
I  hate  a  horse,  when  I  have  to  use  him  as  a  necessity.  Oh, 
heavens!  what  is  there  to  do?" 

"  Begin  whist  again,  at  chick  points  "  (a  "  chick  "  is  sup- 
posed to  be  eight  shillings)  "  and  a  gold  mohur  on  the  rub  " 
said  Spurstow  promptly. 

"  Poker.  A  month's  pay  all  round  for  the  pool — no  limit 
— and  fifty-rupee  raises.  Somebody  would  be  broken  before 
we  got  up,"  said  Lowndes. 

"  Can't  say  that  it  would  give  me  any  pleasure  to  break 
any  man  in  this  company,"  said  Mottram.  "  There  isn't 
enough  excitement  in  it,  and  it's  foolish."  He  crossed  over 
to  the  worn  and  battered  little  camp-piano — wreckage  of  a 
married  household  that  had  once  held  the  bungalow — and 
opened  the  case. 

"  It's  used  up  long  ago,"  said  Hummil.  "  The  servants 
have  pirked  it  to  pieces." 

The  piano  was  indeed  hopelessly  out  of  order,  but  Mot- 
tram managed  to  bring  the  rebellious  notes  into  a  sort  of 
agreement,  and  there  rose  from  the  ragged  key-board  some- 


AT   THE  END   OF    THE   PASSAGE.  97 

thing  that  might  once  have  been  the  ghost  of  a  popular  music- 
hall  song.  The  men  in  the  long  chairs  turned  with  evident 
interest  as  Mottram  banged  the  more  lustily. 

"That's  good!  "  said  Lowndes.  "By  Jove!  the  last  time 
I  heard  that  song  was  in  79,  or  thereabouts,  just  before  I 
came  out." 

"Ah I"  said  Spurstow,  wnth  pride,  "  I  w^as  home  in  '80." 
And  he  mentioned  a  song  of  the  streets  popular  at  that  date. 

Mottram  executed  it  indifferent  well.  Lowndes  criticised 
and  volunteered  emendations.  Mottram  dashed  into  another 
ditty,  not  of  the  music-hall  character,  and  made  as  if  to  rise. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Hummil.  "I  didn't  know  that  you  had 
any  music  in  your  composition.  Go  on  playing  until  you 
can't  think  of  anything  more.  I'll  have  that  piano  tuned  up 
before  you  come  again.     Play  something  festive." 

Very  simple  indeed  w^ere  the  tunes  to  which  ^Tottram's 
art  and  the  limitations  of  the  piano  could  give  effect,  but  the 
men  listened  with  pleasure,  and  in  the  pauses  talked  all  to- 
gether of  what  they  had  seen  or  heard  when  they  were  last 
at  home.  A  dense  dust-storm  sprang  up  outside  and  swept 
roaring  over  the  house,  enveloping  it  in  the  choking  darkness 
of  midnight,  but  Mottram  continued  unheeding,  and  the  crazy 
tinkle  reached  the  ears  of  the  listeners  above  the  flapping 
of  the  tattered  ceiling-cloth. 

In  the  silence  after  the  storm  he  glided  from  the  more  di- 
rectly personal  songs  of  Scotland,  half-humming  them  as  he 
played,  into  the  Evening  Hymn. 

"Sunday,"  said  he.  nodding  his  head. 

"  Go  on.     Don't  apologize  for  it, '  said  Spurstow. 

Hummil  laughed  long  and  riotously.  "  Play  it,  by  ah 
means.  You're  full  of  surprises  to-day.  I  didn't  know  you 
had  such  a  gift  of  finished  sarcasm.  How  does  that  thing 
go?" 

Mottram  took  up  the  tune. 
7 


98  AT  THE  END   OE   THE  PASSAGE. 

"Too  slow  by  half.  You  miss  the  note  of  gratitude,"  said 
Hummil.  "  It  ought  to  go  to  the  '  Grasshopper's  Polka ' — 
this  way."     And  he  chanted,  prestissijno — 

"  '  Glory  to  thee,  my  God.  this  night. 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light.' 

That  shows  we  really  feel  our  blessings.     How  does  it  go 
on? — 

"  '  If  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 

My  soul  with  sacred  thoughts  supply  ; 
^lay  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest,' — 

Quicker,  Mottram! — 

"  '  Or  powers  of  darkness  me  molest ! '  " 

"Bah!  what  an  old  hypocrite  you  are." 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Lowndes.  "You  are  at  full  lib- 
erty to  make  fun  of  anything  else  you  like,  but  leave  that 
hymn  alone.  It's  associated  in  my  mind  with  the  most  sacred 
recollections " 

"  Summer  evenings  in  the  country — stained-glass  window 
— light  going  out,  and  you  and  she  jamming  your  heads  to- 
gether over  one  hymn-book,"  said  Mottram. 

"  Yes,  and  a  fat  old  cockchafer  hitting  you  in  the  eye  when 
you  walked  home.  Smell  of  hay,  and  a  moon  as  big  as  a 
band-box  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  haycock ;  bats — roses — milk 
and  midges,"  said  Lowndes. 

''Also  mothers.  I  can  just  recollect  my  mother  singing  me 
to  sleep  with  that  when  I  was  a  little  chap,"  said  Spurstow. 

The  darkness  had  fallen  on  the  room.  They  could  hear 
Hummil  squirming  in  his  chair. 

"Consequently,"  said  he  testily,  "you  sing  it  when  you 
are  seven  fathom  deep  in  hell!  Its  an  insult  to  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  Deity  to  pretend  we're  anything  but  tortured 
rebels." 


AT   THE   END    OE    THE   PASSAGE.  99 

"Take  two  pills,"  said  Spurstow:  "that's  tortured  liver." 

"The  usually  placid  Hummil  is  in  a  vile  bad  temper.  I'm 
sorry  for  his  coolies  to-morrow,"  said  Lowndes,  as  the  sei-- 
vants  brought  in  the  lights  and  prepared  the  table  for  dinner. 

As  they  were  settling  into  their  places  about  the  miserable 
goat-chops,  the  curried  eggs,  and  the  smoked  tapioca  pud- 
ding, Spurstow  took  occasion  to  whisper  to  Mottram,  "  Well 
done,  David!" 

"  Look  after  Saul,  then,"  was  the  reply. 

"What  are  you  two  whispering  about?"  said  Hummil 
suspiciously. 

"  Only  saying  that  you  are  a  d poor  host.     This  fowl 

can't  be  cut,"  returned  Spurstow,  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  Call 
this  a  dinner?  " 

"  I  can't  help  it.     You  don't  expect  a  banquet,  do  you?  " 

Throughout  that  meal  Hummil  contrived  laboriously  to 
insult  directly  and  pointedly  all  his  guests  in  succession,  and 
at  each  insult  Spurstow  kicked  the  aggrieved  persons  under 
the  table;  but  he  dared  not  exchange  a  glance  of  intelli- 
gence with  either  of  them.  Hummil's  face  was  white  and 
pinched,  while  his  eyes  were  unnaturally  large.  No  man 
dreamed  for  a  moment  of  resenting  his  savage  personalities, 
but  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  they  made  haste  to  get 
away. 

"  Don't  go.  You're  just  getting  amusing,  you  fellows.  I 
hope  I  haven't  said  anything  that  annoyed  you.  You're  such 
touchy  devils."  Then,  changing  the  note  into  one  of  almost 
abject  entreaty,  "I  say,  you  surely  aren't  going?  " 

"  Where  I  dines  I  sleeps,  in  the  language  of  the  blessed 
Jorrocks,"  said  Spurstow.  "  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  your 
coolies  to-morrow,  if  you  don't  mind.  You  can  give  me  a 
place  to  lie  down  in,  I  suppose?  " 

The  others  pleaded  the  urgency  of  their  several  employs 
next  day,  and,  saddling  up,  departed  together,  Hummil  beg- 


lOO  A  7'  THE  END   OF    THE   PASSAGE. 

ging  them  to  come  next  Sunday.  As  they  jogged  off  together 
Lowndes  unbosomed  himself  to  Mottram:  "...  And  I 
never  felt  so  like  kicking  a  man  at  his  own  table  in  my  Hfe. 
Said  I  cheated  at  whist,  and  reminded  me  I  was  in  debt! 
Told  you  you  were  as  good  as  a  liar  to  your  face !  You 
aren't  half  indignant  enough  over  it." 

"Not  I,"  said  Mottram.  "Poor  devil!  Did  you  ever 
know  old  Hummy  behave  like  that  before?  Did  you  ever 
know  him  go  within  a  hundred  miles  of  it?  " 

"  That's  no  excuse.  Spurstow  was  hacking  my  shin  all  the 
time,  so  I  kept  a  hand  on  myself.     Else  I  should  have " 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  You'd  have  done  as  Hummy  did 
about  Jevins:  judge  no  man  this  weather.  By  Jove!  the 
buckle  of  my  bridle  is  hot  in  my  hand!  Trot  out  a  bit;  and 
mind  the  rat-holes." 

Ten  minutes'  trotting  jerked  out  of  Lowndes  one  very 
sage  remark  when  he  pulled  up,  sweating  from  every  pore: 

"  Good  thing  Spurstow's  with  him  to-night." 

"Ye-es.  Good  man,  Spurstow.  Our  roads  turn  here. 
See  you  again  next  Sunday,  if  the  sun  doesn't  bowl  me  over." 

"  S'pose  so,  unless  old  Timbersides'  finance  minister  man- 
ages to  dress  some  of  my  food.  Good-night,  and — God  bless 
you ! " 

"  What's  wrong  now?  " 

"Oh,  nothing."  Lowndes  gathered  up  his  whip,  and,  as 
he  flicked  Mottram's  mare  on  the  flank,  added,  "You're  a 
good  little  chap — that's  all."  And  the  mare  bolted  half  a 
mile  across  the  sand,  on  the  word. 

In  the  assistant  engineer's  bungalow  Spurstow  and  Hum- 
mil  smoked  the  pipe  of  silence  together,  each  narrowly  watch- 
ing the  other.  The  capacity  of  a  bachelor's  establishment 
is  as  elastic  as  its  arrangements  are  simple.  A  servant  cleared 
away  the  dining-room  table,  brought  in  a  couple  of  rude  na- 
tive bedsteads  made  of  tape  strung  on  a  light  wood  frame, 


AT   THE   EXD    OF    THE  PASSAGE.  loi 

flung  a  square  of  cool  Calcutta  matting  over  each,  set  them 
side  by  side,  ]-)inned  two  towels  to  the  punkah  so  that  their 
fringes  should  just  sweep  clear  of  each  sleeper's  nose  and 
mouth,  and  announced  that  the  couches  were  ready. 

The  men  flung  themselves  down,  adjuring  the  punkah- 
coolies  by  all  the  powers  of  Eblis  to  pull.  Every  door  and 
window  was  shut,  for  the  outside  air  was  that  of  an  oven. 
The  atmosphere  within  was  only  104°,  as  the  thermometer 
attested,  and  heavy  with  the  foul  smell  of  badly-trimmed 
kerosene  lamps;  and  this  stench,  combined  with  that  of  na- 
tive tobacco,  baked  brick,  and  dried  earth,  sends  the  heart 
of  many  a  strong  man  down  to  his  boots,  for  it  is  the  smell 
of  the  great  Indian  Empire  when  she  turns  herself  for  six 
months  into  a  house  of  torment.  Spurstow  packed  his  pillows 
craftily  so  that  he  reclined  rather  than  lay,  his  head  at  a  safe 
elevation  above  his  feet.  It  is  not  good  to  sleep  on  a  low 
pillow  in  the  hot  weather  if  you  happen  to  be  of  thick-necked 
build,  for  you  may  pass  with  lively  snores  and  gugglings  from 
natural  sleep  into  the  deep  slumber  of  heat-apoplexy. 

"  Pack  your  pillows,"  said  the  doctor  sharply,  as  he  saw 
Hummil  preparing  to  lie  down  at  full  length. 

The  night-light  was  trimmed;  the  shadow  of  the  punkah 
wavered  across  the  room,  and  the  Jiick  of  the  punkah-towel 
and  the  soft  whine  of  the  rope  through  the  wall-hole  followed 
it.  Then  the  punkah  flagged,  almost  ceased.  The  sweat 
poured  from  Spurstow's  brow.  Should  he  go  cut  and  ha- 
rangue the  coolie?  It  started  forward  again  vvilh  a  savage 
jerk,  and  a  pin  came  out  of  the  towels.  When  this  was  re- 
placed, a  tom-tom  in  the  coolie  lines  began  to  beat  with  the 
steady  throb  of  a  swollen  artery  inside  some  brain-fevered 
skull.  Sjjurstow  turned  on  his  side  and  swore  gently.  There 
was  no  movement  on  HummiFs  part.  The  man  had  com- 
posed himself  as  rigidly  as  a  corpse,  his  hands  clinched  at 
his   sides.     The  respiration  was   too   hurried  for   any  suspi- 


ro2  A  7^    7 'HE  END    OE   THE   PASSAGE. 

cion  of  sleep.  Spurstow  looked  at  the  set  face.  The  jaws 
were  clinched,  and  there  was  a  pucker  round  the  quivering 
eyelids. 

"  He's  holding  himself  as  tightly  as  ever  he  can,"  thought 
Spurstow.  "  What  a  sham  it  is!  and  what  in  the  world  is  the 
matter  with  him? — Hummil!  " 

"Yes." 

"Can't  you  get  to  sleep? 

"No." 

"Head  hot?     Throat  feeling  ouxgy?  or  how?" 

"Neither,  thanks.     I  don't  sleep  much,  you  know." 

"Feel  pretty  bad?" 

"  Pretty  bad,  thanks.  There  is  a  tom-tom  outside,  isn't 
there?  I  thought  it  was  my  head  at  first.  O  Spurstow, 
for  pity's  sake  give  me  something  that  will  put  me  asleep 
— sound  asleep — if  it's  only  for  six  hours!  "  He  sprang  up. 
"  I  haven't  been  able  to  sleep  naturally  for  days,  and  I  can't 
stand  it.' — I  can't  stand  it!  " 

"Poor  old  chap!" 

"  That's  no  use.  Give  me  something  to  make  me  sleep. 
I  tell  you  I'm  nearly  mad.  I  don't  know  what  I  say  half 
my  time.  For  three  weeks  I've  had  to  think  and  spell  out 
every  word  that  has  come  through  my  lips  before  I  dared 
say  it.  I  had  to  get  my  sentences  out  down  to  the  last 
word,  for  fear  of  talking  drivel  if  I  didn't.  Isn't  that  enough 
to  drive  a  man  mad?  I  can't  see  things  correctly  now,  and 
I've  lost  my  sense  of  touch.  Make  me  sleep.  O  Spurstow, 
for  the  love  of  God  make  me  sleep  sound.  It  isn't  enough 
merely  to  let  me  dream.     Let  me  sleep!  " 

'•AH  right,  old  man,  all  right.  Go  slow.  You  aren't  half 
as  bad  as  you  think."  The  flood-gates  of  reserve  once 
broken,  Hummil  was  cHnging  to  him  like  a  frightened  child. 

"  You're  pinching  my  arm  to  pieces." 

"  I'll  break  your  neck  if  you  don't  do  something  for  me 


AT    THE   END    OF    THE   PASSAGE.  1 03 

No,  I  didn't  mean  that.  Don't  be  angry,  old  fellow."  He 
wiped  the  sweat  off  himself  as  he  fought  to  regain  compo- 
sure. "As  a  matter  of  fact,  Tm  a  bit  restless  and  off  my  oats, 
and  perhaps  you  could  recommend  some  sort  of  sleeping- 
mixture — bromide  of  potassium." 

"Bromide  of  skittles!  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  be- 
fore? Let  go  of  my  arm,  and  Til  see  if  there's  anything  in 
my  cigarette-case  to  suit  your  complaint.''  He  hunted 
among  his  day-clothes,  turned  up  the  lamp,  opened  a  little 
silver  cigarette-case,  and  advanced  on  the  expectant  Hummil 
with  the  daintiest  of  fairy  squirts. 

"The  last  appeal  of  civilization,''  said  he,  "and  a  thing  I 
hate  to  use.  Hold  out  }'our  arm.  Well,  your  sleeplessness 
hasn't  ruined  your  muscle;  and  what  a  thick  hide  it  is! 
Might  as  well  inject  a  buffalo  subcutaneously.  Now  in  a 
few  minutes  the  morphia  will  begin  working.  Lie  down  and 
wait." 

A  smile  of  unalloyed  and  idiotic  delight  began  to  creep 
over  Hummil's  face.  "  I  think,"  he  whispered — "  I  think 
Vm.  going  off  now.  Gad!  it's  positively  heavenly!  Spur- 
stow,  you  must  give  me  that  case  to  keep;  you "     The 

voice  ceased  as  the  head  fell  back. 

"  Not  for  a  good  deal,"'  said  Spurstow  to  the  unconscious 
form.  "And  now,  my  friend,  sleeplessness  of  your  kind  be- 
ing very  apt  to  relax  the  moral  fibre  in  little  matters  of  life 
and  death,  I'll  just  take  the  liberty  of  spiking  your  guns." 

He  paddled  into  Hummil's  saddle-room  in  his  bare  feet 
and  uncased  a  twelve- bore,  an  express,  and  a  revolver.  Of 
the  first  he  unscrewed  the  nipples  and  hid  them  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  saddlery-case;  of  the  second  he  abstracted  the 
lever,  placing  it  behind  a  big  wardrobe.  The  third  he 
merely  opened,  and  knocked  the  doll-head  bolt  of  the  grip 
up  with  the  heel  of  a  riding-boot. 

"  That's  settled,"  he  said,  as  he  shook   the  sweat  off  his 


I04  AT    THE   EXD    OF    THE   PASSAGE. 

hands.  "These  Httle  precautions  will  at  least  give  you  time 
to  turn.  You  have  too  much  sympathy  with  gun-room  ac- 
cidents." 

And  as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  the  thick  muffled  voice 
of  Hummil  cried  in  the  doorway,  "  You  fool!  " 

Such  tones  they  use  who  speak  in  the  lucid  intervals  of 
delirium  to  their  friends  a  little  before  they  die. 

Spurstow  jumped  with  sheer  fright.  Hummil  stood  in  the 
doorway,  rocking  with  helpless  laughter. 

"That  was  awf'ly  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  he  said,  very 
slowly,  feeling  for  his  words.  "  I  don't  intend  to  go  out  by 
my  own  hand  at  present.  I  say,  Spurstow,  that  stuff  won't 
work.  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?"  And  panic 
terror  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  Lie  down  and  give  it  a  chance.     Lie  down  at  once." 

"  I  daren't.  It  will  only  take  me  half-way  again,  and  I 
shan't  be  able  to  get  away  this  time.  Do  you  know  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  come  out  just  now?  Generally  I  am  as 
quick  as  lightning ;  but  you  had  clogged  my  feet.  I  was 
nearly  caught." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand.     Go  and  lie  down." 

"  No,  it  isn't  delirium ;  but  it  was  an  awfully  mean  trick  to 
play  on  me      Do  you  know  I  might  have  died?  " 

As  a  sponge  rubs  a  slate  clean,  so  some  power  unknown 
to  Spurstow  had  wiped  out  of  Hummil's  face  all  that  stamped 
it  for  the  face  of  a  man,  and  he  stood  at  the  doorway  in  the 
expression  of  his  lost  innocence.  He  had  slept  back  into 
terrified  childhood. 

"Is  he  going  to  die  on  the  spot?"  thought  Spurstow. 
Then,  aloud,  "All  right,  my  son.  Come  back  to  bed,  and 
tell  me  all  about  it.  You  couldn't  sleep;  but  what  was  all 
the  rest  of  the  nonsense?  " 

"A  place — a  place  down  there,"  said  Hummil,  with  sim- 
ple sincerity.     The  drug  was  acting  on  him  by  waves,  and 


AT    7 HE   EXD    OF   THE   PASSAGE.  105 

he  was  flung  from  the  fear  of  a  strong  man  to  the  fright  of 
a  child  as  his  nerves  gathered  sense  or  were  dulled. 

"  Good  God!  I've  been  afraid  of  it  for  months  past,  Spurs- 
tow.  It  has  made  every  night  hell  to  me ;  and  yet  I'm  not 
conscious  of  having  done  anything  wrong." 

"  Be  still,  and  I'll  give  you  another  dose.  We'll  stop  your 
nightmares,  you  unutterable  idiot!  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  give  me  so  much  that  I  can't  get  away. 
You  must  make  me  quite  sleepy — not  just  a  little  sleepy. 
It's  so  hard  to  run  then." 

"I  know  it;  I  know  it.  I've  felt  it  myself.  The  symp- 
toms are  exactly  as  you  describe." 

"Oh,  don't  laugh  at  me,  confound  you!  Before  this  awful 
sleeplessness  came  to  me  I've  tried  to  rest  on  my  elbow  and 
put  a  spur  in  the  bed  to  sting  me  when  I  fell  back.     Look!  " 

"By  Jove!  the  man  has  been  rowelled  like  a  horse!  Rid- 
den by  the  nightmare  with  a  vengeance !  And  we  all  thought 
him  sensible  enough.  Heaven  send  us  understanding!  You 
hke  to  talk,  don't  you,  old  man?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Not  when  Tm  frightened.  Then  I 
want  to  run.     Don't  you?  " 

"Always.  Before  I  give  you  your  second  dose,  try  to  tell 
me  exactly  what  your  trouble  is." 

Hummil  spoke  in  broken  whispers  for  nearly  ten  minutes, 
while  Spurstow  looked  into  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  and  passed 
his  hand  before  them  once  or  twice. 

At  the  end  of  the  narrative  the  silver  cigarette-case  was 
produced,  and  the  last  words  that  Hummil  said  as  he  fell 
back  for  the  second  time  were,  ''Put  me  quite  to  sleep;  for 
if  I'm  caught  I  die — I  die!  " 

"Yes,  ycs;  we  all  do  that  sooner  or  later,  thank  heaven 
who  has  set  a  term  to  our  miseries,"  said  Spurstow,  settling 
the  cushions  under  the  head.  "  It  occurs  to  me  that  unle?^. 
I  drink  something  I  shall  go  out  before  my  time.   I've  stopped 


io6  AT    THE  END   OF   THE  PASSAGE. 

sweating,  and  I  wear  a  sevenceen-inch  collar."  And  he 
brewed  himself  scalding  hot  tea,  which  is  an  excellent  remedy 
against  h^at-apoplexy  if  you  take  three  or  four  cups  of  it  in 
time.     Then  he  watched  the  sleeper. 

"A  bhnd  face  that  cries  and  can't  wipe  its  eyes.  H'm! 
Decidedly,  Hummil  ought  to  go  on  leave  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble ;  and,  sane  or  otherwise,  he  undoubtedly  did  rowel  him- 
self most  cruelly.     Well,  heaven  send  us  understanding!  " 

At  mid-day  Hummil  rose,  with  an  evil  taste  in  his  mouth, 
but  an  unclouded  eye  and  a  joyful  heart. 

"  I  was  pretty  bad  last  night,  vrasn't  I?"  said  he. 

*'  I  have  seen  healthier  men.  You  must  have  had  a  touch 
of  the  sun.  Look  here:  if  I  write  you  a  swingeing  medical 
certificate,  will  you  apply  for  leave  on  the  spot?" 

"No." 

"  Why  not?     You  want  it." 

"Yes,  but  I  can  hold  on  till  the  weather's  a  little  cooler." 

"  Why  should  you,  if  you  can  get  relieved  on  the  spot?  " 

"Burkett  is  the  only  man  who  could  be  sent;  and  he's  a 
born  fool." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  the  line.  You  aren't  so  import- 
ant as  all  that.     Wire  for  leave,  if  necessary." 

Hummil  looked  very  uncomfortable. 

•'  I  can  hold  on  till  the  rains,"  he  said  evasively. 

"You  can't.     Wire  to  headquarters  for  Burkett." 

"  I  won't.  If  you  want  to  know  why,  particularly,  Burkett 
is  married,  and  his  wife's  just  had  a  kid,  and  she's  up  at 
Simla,  in  the  cool,  and  Burkett  has  a  very  nice  billet  that 
takes  him  into  Simla  from  Saturday  to  Monday.  That  little 
woman  isn't  at  all  well.  If  Burkett  was  transferred  she'd  try 
to  follow  him.  If  she  left  the  baby  behind  she'd  fret  herself 
to  death.  If  she  came — and  Burkett's  one  of  those  selfish 
little  beasts  who  are  always  talking  about  a  wife's  place  be- 
ing with  her  husband — she'd   die.     It's   murder  to   bring  a 


AT   THE   END   OF    THE   PASSAGE.  107 

woman  here  just  now.  Burkett  has  got  the  physique  of  a 
rat.  If  he  came  here  he'd  go  out;  and  I  know  she  hasn't 
any  money,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  she'd  go  out  too.  I'm  salted 
in  a  sort  of  way,  and  I'm  not  married.  Wait  till  the  rains, 
and  then  Burkett  can  get  thin  down  here  It'll  do  him  heaps 
of  good." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to  face — what  you 
have  faced,  for  the  next  fifty-six  nights?  " 

"  Oh,  it  won't  be  so  bad,  now  you've  shown  me  a  way  out 
of  it.  I  can  always  wire  to  you.  Besides,  now  I've  once  got 
into  the  way  of  sleeping,  it'll  be  all  right.  Anyhow,  I  shan't 
put  in  for  leave.     That's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it.'' 

"My  great  Scott!  I  thought  all  that  sort  of  thing  was 
dead  and  done  with." 

"Bosh I  You'd  do  the  same  yourself.  I  feel  a  new  man, 
thanks  to  that  cigarette-case.  You're  going  over  to  camp 
now,  aren't  you?  " 

"Yes;  but  I'll  try  to  look  you  up  every  other  day,  if  I 
can." 

"  I'm  not  bad  enough  for  that.  I  don't  want  you  to  bother. 
Give  the  coolies  gin  and  ketchup." 

"Then  you  feel  all  right?  " 

"  Fit  to  fight  for  my  life,,  but  not  to  stand  out  in  the  sun 
talking  to  you.     Go  along,  old  man,  and  bless  you!  " 

Hummil  turned  on  his  heel  to  face  the  echoing  desolation 
of  his  bungalow,  and  the  first  thing  he  saw  standing  in  the 
veranda  was  the  figure  of  himself.  He  had  met  a  similar 
apparition  once  before,  when  he  was  suffering  from  overwork 
and  the  strain  of  the  hot  weather. 

"  This  is  bad — already,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes.  "  If 
the  thing  slides  away  from  me  all  in  one  piece,  like  a  ghost, 
I  shall  know  it  is  only  my  eyes  and  stomach  that  are  out  of 
order.     If  it  walks,  I  shall  know  that  my  head  is  going." 

He  walked  to  the  figure,  which  naturally  kept  at  an  un- 


Io8  AT   THE  END   OF   THE  PASSAGE. 

varying  distance  from  him,  as  is  the  use  of  all  spectres  that 
are  born  of  overwork.  It  slid  through  the  house  and  dis- 
solved into  swimming  specks  within  the  eyeball  as  soon  as 
it  reached  the  burning  light  of  the  garden.  Hummil  went 
about  his  business  till  even.  When  he  came  in  to  dinner  he 
found  himself  sitting  at  the  table.  The  thing  rose  and  walked 
out  hastily. 

No  living  man  knows  what  that  week  held  for  Hummil. 
An  increase  of  the  epidemic  kept  Spurstow  in  camp  among 
the  coolies,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  telegraph  to  Mot- 
tram,  bidding  him  go  to  the  bungalow  and  sleep  there.  But 
Mottram  was  forty  miles  away  from  the  nearest  telegraph, 
and  knew  nothing  of  anything  save  the  needs  of  the  survey 
till  he  met  early  on  Sunday  morning  Lowndes  and  Spurstow 
heading  toward  Hummil's  for  the  weekly  gathering. 

"  Hope  the  poor  chap's  in  a  better  temper,"  said  the  former, 
swinging  himself  off  his  horse  at  the  door.  "  I  suppose  he 
isn't  up  yet." 

"  I'll  just  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  the  doctor.  "  If  he's 
asleep  there's  no  need  to  wake  him." 

And  an  instant  later,  by  the  tone  of  Spurstow's  voice 
calHng  upon  them  to  enter,  the  men  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

The  punkah  was  still  being  pulled  over  the  bed,  but  Hum- 
mil  had  departed  this  life  at  least  three  hours  before. 

The  body  lay  on  its  back,  hands  clinched  by  the  side,  as 
Spurstow  had  seen  it  lying  seven  nights  previously.  In  the 
staring  eyes  was  written  terror  beyond  the  expression  of 
any  pen. 

Mottram,  who  had  entered  behind  Lowndes,  bent  over 
the  dead  and  touched  the  forehead  lightly  with  his  lips, 
"  Oh,  you  lucky,  lucky  devil !  "  he  whispered. 

But  Lowndes  had  seen  the  eyes,  and  had  withdrawn  shud- 
dering to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 


AT   THE  END   OF    THE   PASSAGE.  109 

"Poor  chap!  poor  old  chap!     And  the  last  time   I  met 

n  I  was  angry.  Spurstow,  we  should  have  watched  him. 
Has  he " 

Deftly  Spurstow  continued  his  investigations,  ending  by  a 
search  round  the  room. 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  he  snapped.     "  There's  no  trace  of  any- 
thing.    Call  in  the  servants." 

They  came,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  whispering  and  peering 
over  each  other's  shoulders. 

"When  did  your  Sahib  go  to  bed?  "  said  Spurstow. 

"At  eleven  or  ten,  we  think,"  said  Hummil's  personal 
servant. 

"  He  was  well  then?     But  how  should  you  know?  " 

"He  was  not  ill,  as  far  as  our  comprehension  extended. 
But  he  had  slept  very  little  for  three  nights.  This  I  know, 
because  I  saw  him  walking  much,  and  specially  in  the  heart 
of  the  night." 

As  Spurstow  was  arranging  the  sheet,  a  big  straight-necked 
hunting-spur  tumbled  on  the  ground.  The  doctor  groaned. 
The  personal  servant  peeped  at  the  body. 

"What  do  you  think,  Chuma?"  said  Spurstow,  catching 
the  look  on  the  dark  face. 

"  Heaven-born,  in  my  poor  opinion,  this  that  was  my  mas- 
ter has  descended  into  the  Dark  Places,  and  there  has  been 
caught  because  he  was  not  able  to  escape  with  sufficient 
speed.  We  have  the  spur  for  evidence  that  he  fought  with 
Fear.  Thus  have  I  seen  men  of  my  race  do  with  thorns 
when  a  spell  was  laid  upon  them  to  overtake  them  in  their 
sleeping  hours  and  they  dared  not  sleep." 

"Chuma,  you're  a  mud-head.  Go  out  and  prepare  seals 
to  be  set  on  the  Sahib's  property." 

"God  has  made  the  heaven-born.  God  has  made  me. 
Who  are  we,  to  inquire  into  the  disjiens.itions  of  God?  I 
will  bid  the  other  servants  hold  aloof  while  you  are  reckon- 


no  AT   THE  END    OF    THE  PASSAGE. 

ing  the  tale  of  the  Sahib's  property.  They  are  all  thieves, 
and  would  steal." 

"As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  he  died  from — oh,  anything: 
stoppage  of  the  heart's  action,  heat-apoplexy,  or  some  other 
visitation,"  said  Spurstow  to  his  companions.  "  We  must 
make  an  inventory  of  his  effects,  and  so  on." 

"  He  was  scared  to  death,"  insisted  Lowndes.  "  Look  at 
those  eyes!  For  pity's  sake  don't  let  him  be  buried  with 
them  open  I  " 

"  Whatever  it  was,  he's  out  of  all  the  trouble  now,"  said 
Mottram  softly. 

Spurstow  was  peering  into  the  open  eyes. 

"Come  here,"  said  he.     "Can  you  see  anything  there?" 

"I  can't  face  it!  "  whimpered  Lowndes.  "Cover  up  the 
face !  Is  there  any  fear  on  earth  that  can  turn  a  man  into 
that  likeness?     It's  ghastly.     O  Spurstow,  cover  him  up! '" 

"  No  fear — on  earth,"  said  Spurstow.  Mottram  leaned 
over  his  shoulder  and  looked  intently. 

"  I  see  nothing  except  some  gray  blurs  in  the  pupil.  There 
can  be  nothing  there,  you  know." 

"Even  so.  Well,  let's  think.  It'll  take  half  a  day  to 
knock  up  any  sort  of  coffin;  and  he  must  have  died  at  mid- 
night. Lowndes,  old  man,  go  out  and  tell  the  coolies  to 
break  ground  next  to  Jevins'  grave.  Mottram,  go  round  the 
house  with  Chuma  and  see  that  the  seals  are  put  on  things. 
Send  a  couple  of  men  to  me  here,  and  I'll  arrange." 

The  strong-armed  servants  when  they  returned  to  their 
own  kind  told  a  strange  story  of  the  doctor  Sahib  vainly 
trying  to  call  their  master  back  to  life  by  magic  arts — to  wit, 
the  holding  of  a  little  green  box  opposite  each  of  the  dead 
man's  eyes,  of  a  frequent  clicking  of  the  same,  and  of  a  be- 
wildered muttering  on  the  part  of  the  doctor  Sahib,  who 
subsequently  took  the  little  green  box  away  with  him. 

The  resonant  hammering  of  a  coffin- lid   is   no  pleasant 


A  T    THE    RXD    OF    THE   PA  SSA  GE.  1 1 1 

thing  to  liear,  but  those  who  have  experience  maintain  that 
much  more  terrible  is  the  soft  swish  of  tiie  bed-Hnen,  the 
reeving  and  unreeving  of  the  bed-tapes,  wl  en  he  who  has 
fallen  by  the  roadside  is  apparelled  for  burial,  sinking  grad- 
ually as  the  tapes  are  tied  over,  till  the  swaddled  shape 
touches  the  floor  and  there  is  no  protest  against  the  indig- 
nity of  hasty  disposal. 

At  the  last  moment  Lowndes  was  seized  with  scruples  of 
conscience.  "  Ought  you  to  read  the  service — from  begin- 
ning to  end?"  said  he. 

"  I  intend  to.  You're  my  senior  as  a  civilian.  You  can 
take  it,  if  you  like." 

"  1  didn't  mean  that  for  a  moment.  I  only  thought  if  we 
could  get  a  chaplain  from  somewhere-— I'm  willing  to  ride 
anywhere — and  give  poor  Hummil  a  better  chance.  That's 
all." 

"Bosh!"  said  Spurstow,  as  he  framed  his  lips  to  the  tre- 
mendous words  that  stand  at  the  head  of  the  burial  service. 

After  breakfast  they  smoked  a  pipe  in  silence  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  dead.     Then  said  Spurstow,  absently — 

" 'Tisn't  in  medical  science." 

"What?" 

"  Things  in  a  dead  man's  eye." 

"For  goodness'  sake  leave  that  horror  alone!"  said 
Lowndes.  "  I've  seen  a  native  die  of  fright  when  a  tiger 
chivied  him.     I  know  what  killed  Hummil." 

"The  deuce  you  do!  I'm  going  to  try  to  see."  And  the 
doctor  retreated  into  the  bath-room  with  a  Kodak  camera, 
splashing  and  grunting  for  ten  minutes.  Then  there  was  the 
sound  of  something  being  hammered  to  pieces,  and  Spurs- 
tow emerged,  very  white  indeed. 

"*^iave  you  got  a  picture?"  said  Mottram.  "What  does 
the  thing  look  like?" 


112  AT    THE  EXD   OF   THE   PASSAGE, 

"  Nothing  there.  It  was  impossible,  of  course.  You 
needn't  look,  Mottram.  I've  torn  up  the  films.  There  was 
nothing  there.     It  was  impossible." 

"  That,"  said  Lowndes,  very  distinctly,  watching  the  shak- 
ing hand  striving  to  relight  the  pipe,  "is  a  damned  lie." 

There  was  no  further  speech  for  a  long  time.  The  hot 
wind  whistled  without,  and  the  dry  trees  sobbed.  Presently 
the  daily  train,  winking  brass,  burnished  steel,  and  spouting 
steam,  pulled  up  panting  in  the  intense  glare.  "  We'd  bet- 
ter go  on  on  that,"  said  Spurstow.  "  Go  back  to  work.  I've 
written  my  certificate.  We  can't  do  any  more  good  here. 
Come  on." 

No  one  moved.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  face  railway  journeys 
at  mid-day  in  June.  Spurstow  gathered  up  his  hat  and  whip, 
and,  turning  in  the  doorway,  said 

"  There  may  be  heaven, — there  must  be  hell. 
Meantime,  there  is  our  life  heie.     \Ve-ell  ?  " 

But  neither  Mottram  nor  Lowndes  had  any  answer  to  the 
question. 


THE 

INCARNATION   OF  KRISHNA 
MULVANEY. 


THE 

INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY. 


Once  upon  a  time,  and  very  far  from  this  land,  lived  three 
men  who  loved  each  other  so  greatly  that  neither  man  nor 
woman  could  come  between  them.  They  were  in  no  sense 
refined,  nor  to  be  admitted  to  the  outer  door-mats  of  decent 
folk,  because  they  happened  to  be  private  soldiers  in  Her 
Majesty's  army;  and  private  soldiers  of  that  employ  have 
small  time  for  self-culture.  Their  duty  is  to  keep  themselves 
and  their  accoutrements  specklessly  clean,  to  refrain  from 
getting  drunk  more  often  than  is  necessary,  to  obey  their 
superiors,  and  to  pray  for  a  war.  All  these  things  my 
friends  accompHshed ;  and  of  their  own  motion  threw  in  some 
fighting-work  for  which  the  Army  Regulations  did  not  call. 
Their  fate  sent  them  to  serve  in  India,  which  is  not  a  golden 
country,  though  poets  have  sung  otherwise.  There  men  die 
with  great  swiftness,  and  those  who  live  suffer  many  and  curi- 
ous things.  I  do  not  think  that  my  friends  concerned  them- 
selves much  with  the  social  or  political  aspects  of  the  East. 
They  attended  a  not  unimportant  war  on  the  northern  fron- 
tier, another  one  on  our  western  boundary,  and  a  third  in 
Upper  Burma.  Then  their  regiment  sat  still  to  recruit,  and 
the  boundless  monotony  of  cantonment  life  was  their  por- 
tion. They  were  drilled  morning  and  evening  on  the  same 
dusty  parade-ground.     They  wandered  up  and  down  the  same 


1 1 6         INCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VANE  V. 

Stretch  of  dusty  white  road,  attended  the  same  church  and 
the  same  grog-shop,  and  slept  in  the  same  h'me-washed  barn 
of  a  barrack  for  two  long  years.  There  was  Mulvaney,  the 
father  in  the  craft,  who  had  served  with  various  regiments 
from  Bermuda  to  Halifax,  old  in  war,  scarred,  reckless,  re- 
sourceful, and  in  his  pious  hours  an  unequalled  soldier.  To 
him  turned  for  help  and  comfort  six  and  a  half  feet  of  slow- 
moving,  heavy-footed  Yorkshireman,  born  on  the  wolds, 
bred  in  the  dales,  and  educated  chiefly  among  the  carriers' 
carts  at  the  back  of  York  railway -station.  His  name  was 
Learoyd,  and  his  chief  virtue  an  unmitigated  patience  which 
helped  him  to  win  fights.  How  Ortheris,  a  fox-terrier  of  a 
Cockney,  ever  came  to  be  one  of  the  trio,  is  a  mystery  which 
even  to-day  I  cannot  explain.  "  There  was  always  three  av 
us,"  Mulvaney  used  to  say.  "  An'  by  the  grace  av  God,  so 
long  as  our  service  lasts,  three  av  us  they'll  always  be.  'Tis 
betther  so." 

They  desired  no  companionship  beyond  their  own,  and 
evil  it  was  for  any  man  of  the  regiment  who  attempted  dis- 
pute with  them.  Physical  argument  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion as  regarded  Mulvaney  and  the  Yorkshireman ;  and  as- 
sault on  Ortheris  meant  a  combined  attack  from  these  twain 
— a  business  which  no  five  men  were  anxious  to  have  on 
their  hands.  Therefore  they  flourished,  sharing  their  drinks, 
their  tobacco,  and  their  money;  good  luck  and  evil;  battle 
and  the  chances  of  death ;  life  and  the  chances  of  happiness 
from  Calicut  in  southern,  to  Peshawur  in  northern  India. 
Through  no  merit  of  my  own  it  was  my  good-fortune  to  be 
in  a  measure  admitted  to  their  friendship — frankly  by  Mul- 
vaney from  the  beginning,  sullenly  and  with  reluctance  by 
Learoyd,  and  suspiciously  by  Ortheris,  who  held  to  it  that  no 
man  not  in  the  army  could  fraternize  with  a  red-coat.  "  Like 
to  like,"  said  he.  "  I'm  a  bloomin'  sodger — he's  a  bloomin' 
civilian.     'Tain't  natural — that's  all." 


IXCARyA  TIOX  OF  KRISHXA   MUL  VAXE  V.         117 

But  that  was  not  all.  They  thawed  progressively,  and  in 
the  thawing  told  me  more  of  their  lives  and  adventures  than 
I  am  likely  to  find  room  for  here. 

Omitting  all  else,  this  tale  begins  with  the  lamentable 
thirst  that  was  at  the  beginning  of  First  Causes.  Never 
was  such  a  thirst — Mulvaney  told  me  so.  They  kicked 
against  their  compulsory  virtue,  but  the  attempt  was  only 
successful  in  the  case  of  Ortheris.  He,  whose  talents  were 
many,  went  forth  into  the  highways  and  stole  a  dog  from  a 
"civilian  " — videlicet,  some  one,  he  knew  not  who,  not  in  the 
army.  Now  that  civilian  was  but  newly  connected  by  marriage 
with  the  colonel  of  the  regiment,  and  outcry  was  made  from 
quarters  least  anticipated  by  Ortheris,  and,  in  the  end,  he  was 
forced,  lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen,  to  dispose  at  ridic- 
ulously unremunerative  rates  of  as  promising  a  small  terrier 
as  ever  graced  one  end  of  a  leading-string.  The  purchase- 
money  was  barely  sufficient  for  one  small  outbreak  which 
led  him  to  the  guard-room.  He  escaped,  however,  with 
nothing  worse  than  a  severe  reprimand  and  a  few  hours  of 
punishment  drill.  Not  for  nothing  had  he  acquired  the 
reputation  of  being  "the  best  soldier  of  his  inches"  in  the 
regiment.  Mulvaney  had  taught  personal  cleanliness  and 
efficiency  as  the  first  articles  of  his  companions'  creed.  "  A 
dherty  man,''  he  was  used  to  say,  in  the  speech  of  his  kind, 
"  goes  to  clink  for  a  weakness  in  the  knees,  an'  is  coort- 
martialed  for  a  pair  av  socks  missin';  but  a  clane  man,  such 
as  is  an  ornament  to  his  service — a  man  whose  buttons  are 
gold,  whose  coat  is  wax  upon  him,  an'  whose  'coutrements  are 
widout  a  speck — that  man  may,  spakin'  in  reason,  do  fwhat 
he  likes  an'  dhrink  from  day  to  divil.  That's  the  pride  av 
bein'  dacint." 

We  sat  together,  upon  a  day,  in  the  shade  of  a  ravine  far 
from  the  barracks,  where  a  watercourse  used  to  run  in  rainy 
weather.     Behind  us  was  the  scrub  jungle,  in  which  jackals, 


T  1 8         IXCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VAN 

peacocks,  the  gray  wolves  of  the  Northwestern  Provinces, 
and  occasionally  a  tiger  estrayed  from  Central  India,  were 
supposed  to  dwell.  In  front  lay  the  cantonment,  glaring 
white  under  a  glaring  sun,  and  on  either  side  ran  the  broad 
road  that  led  to  Delhi. 

It  was  the  scrub  that  suggested  to  my  mind  the  wisdom  of 
Mulvaney  taking  a  day's  leave  and  going  upon  a  shooting- 
tour.  The  peacock  is  a  holy  bird  throughout  India,  and 
whoso  slays  one  is  in  danger  of  being  mobbed  by  the  nearest 
villagers;  but  on  the  last  occasion  that  Mulvaney  had  gone 
forth  he  had  contrived,  without  in  the  least  offending  local 
religious  susceptibilities,  to  return  with  six  beautiful  peacock 
skins  which  he  sold  to  profit.     It  seemed  just  possible  then — 

"  But  fwhat  manner  av  use  is  ut  to  me  goin'  out  widout  a 
dhrink?  The  ground's  powdher-dhry  underfoot,  an'  ut  gets 
unto  the  throat  fit  to  kill,"  wailed  Mulvaney,  looking  at  me 
reproachfully.  "  An'  a  peacock  is  not  a  bird  you  can  catch 
the  tail  av  onless  ye  run.  Can  a  man  run  on  wather — an' 
jungle-wather  too?  " 

Ortheris  had  considered  the  question  in  all  its  bearings. 
He  spoke,  chewing  his  pipe-stem  meditatively: 

*'  Go  forth,  return  in  glory, 
To  Clusium's  royal  'ome; 
An'  round  these  bloomin'  temples  'ang 
The  bloomin'  shields  o'  Rome." 

You  better  go.  You  ain't  like  to  shoot  yourself — not 
while  there's  a  chanst  of  Hquor.  Me  an'  Learoyd  '11  stay  at 
'ome  an  keep  shop — case  o'  anythin'  turnin'  up.  But  you 
go  out  with  a  gas-pipe  gun  an'  ketch  the  little  peacockses  or 
somethin'.  You  kin  get  one  day's  leave  easy  as  winkin'. 
Go  along  an'  get  it,  an'  get  peacockses  or  somethin'." 

"  Jock,"  said  Mulvaney,  turning  to  Learoyd,  who  was  half 
asleep  under  the  shadow  of  the  bank.     He  roused  slowly, 

*'  Sitha,  Mulvaaney,  go,"  said  he. 


INCARNA  TIOiV  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VANE  V.         119 

And  Mulvaney  went;  cursing  his  allies  with  Irish  fluency 
and  barrack-room  point. 

"  Take  note,"  said  he,  when  he  had  won  his  holiday,  and 
appeared  dressed  in  his  roughest  clothes  with  the  only  other 
regimental  fowling-piece  in  his  hand — "  take  note,  Jock,  an' 
you,  Orth'ris,  I  am  goin'  in  the  face  av  my  own  will — all  for 
to  please  you.  I  misdoubt  anythin'  will  come  av  permiscuous 
huntin'  afther  peacockses  in  a  disolit  Ian' ;  an'  I  know  that 
I  will  He  down  an'  die  wid  thirrrst.  IMe  catch  peacockses  for 
you,  ye  lazy  scutts — an'  be  sacrificed  by  the  peasanthry." 

He  waved  a  huge  paw  and  went  away. 

At  twilight,  long  before  the  appointed  hour,  he  returned 
empty-handed,  much  begrimed  with  dirt. 

"Peacockses?"  queried  Ortheris  from  the  safe  rest  of  a 
barrack-room  table,  whereon  he  was  smoking  cross-legged, 
Learoyd  fast  asleep  on  a  bench. 

"  Jock,"  said  Mulvaney  as  he  stirred  up  the  sleeper.  "  Jock, 
can  ye  fight?     Will  ye  fight?" 

Very  slowly  the  meaning  of  the  words  communicated  itself 
to  the  half-roused  man.  He  understood — and  again — what 
might  these  things  mean?  Mulvaney  was  shaking  him  sav- 
agely. Meantime  the  men  in  the  room  howled  with  delight. 
There  was  war  in  the  confederacy  at  last — war  and  the  break- 
ing of  bonds. 

Barrack-room  etiquette  is  stringent.  On  the  direct  chal- 
lenge must  follow  the  direct  reply.  This  is  more  binding 
than  the  ties  of  tried  friendship.  Once  again  Mulvaney  re- 
peated the  question.  Learoyd  answered  by  the  only  means 
in  his  power  and  so  swiftly  that  the  Irishman  had  barely  time 
to  avoid  the  blow.  The  laughter  around  increased.  Lea- 
royd looked  bewilderedly  at  his  friend— himself  as  greatly 
bewildered.  Ortheris  dropped  from  the  table.  His  world  was 
falling. 

*'  Come  outside,"  said  Mulvaney,  and  as  the  occupants  of 


I  20        INCARNA  riON  OF  KRISHXA  MUL  VANE  Y. 

the  barrack-room  prepared  joyously  to  follow,  he  turned  and 
said  furiously:  "  There  will  be  no  fight  this  night — onless  any 
wan  av  you  is  wishful  to  assist.  The  man  that  does,  follows 
on." 

No  man  moved.  The  three  passed  out  into  the  moon- 
light, Learoyd  fumbling  with  the  buttons  of  hi-s  coat.  The 
parade-ground  was  deserted  except  for  the  scurrying  jackals. 
Mulvaney's  impetuous  rush  carried  his  companions  far  into 
the  open  ere  Learoyd  attempted  to  turn  round  and  continue 
the  discussion. 

"Be  still  now.  'Twas  my  fault  for  beginnin'  things  in  the 
middle  av  an  end,  Jock.  I  should  ha'  comminst  wid  an  ex- 
planation ;  but  Jock,  dear,  on  your  sowl  are  ye  fit,  think  you, 
for  the  finest  fight  that  iver  was — betther  than  fightin'  me? 
Considher  before  ye  answer." 

More  than  ever  puzzled,  Learoyd  turned  round  two  or 
three  times,  felt  an  arm,  kicked  tentatively,  and  answered, 
"Ah'm  fit."  He  was  accustomed  to  fight  blindly  at  the  bid- 
ding of  the  superior  mind. 

They  sat  them  down,  the  men  looking  on  from  afar,  and 
Mulvaney  untangled  himself  in  mighty  words. 

"  FoUowin'  your  fools'  scheme,  I  wint  out  into  the  thrack- 
less  desert  beyond  the  barricks.  An'  there  I  met  a  pious 
Hindu  dhriving  a  bullock-kyart.  I  tuk  ut  for  granted  he 
wud  be  dehghted  for  to  convoy  me  a  piece,  an'  I  jumped 


"You  long,  lazy,  black-haired  swine,"  drawled  Ortheris, 
who  would  have  done  the  same  thing  under  similar  circum- 
stances. 

"'Twas  the  height  av  policy.  That  naygur  man  dhruv 
miles  an'  miles — as  far  as  the  new  railway  line  they're  buildin' 
now  back  av  the  Tavi  River.  *  'Tis  a  kyart  for  dhirt  only,' 
says  he  now  an'  again  timoreously,  to  get  me  out  av  ut. 
'  Dhirt  I  am,'  sez  I,  '  an'  the  dhryest  that  you  iver  kyarted. 


INCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VANE  Y.         121 

Dhrive  on,  me  son,  an'  glory  be  wid  you.'  At  that  I  vvint  to 
slape,  an'  took  no  heed  till  he  pulled  up  on  the  embankment 
av  the  line  where  the  coolies  were  pilin'  mud.  There  was 
a  matther  av  two  thousand  coolies  on  that  line — you  re- 
mimber  that.  Prisintly  a  bell  rang,  an'  they  throops  off  to  a 
big  pay-shed.  ^  Where's  the  white  man  in  charge?  '  sez  I  to 
my  kyart-driver.  '  In  the  shed,'  sez  he,  'engaged  on  a  riffle.' 
'A  fwhat?'  sez  I.  *  Riffle,'  sez  he.  'You  take  ticket.  He 
take  money.  You  get  nothin'.'  '  Oho! '  sez  I,  'that's  fwhat 
the  shuperior  an'  cultivated  man  calls  a  raffle,  me  misbe- 
guided  child  av  darkness  an'  sin.  Lead  on  to  that  raffle, 
though  fwhat  the  mischief  'tis  doin'  so  far  away  from  uts 
home — which  is  the  charity-bazaar  at  Christmas,  an'  the 
colonel's  wife  grinnin'  behind  the  tea-table — is  more  than  I 
know.'  Wid  that  I  wint  to  the  shed  an'  found  'twas  pay-day 
among  the  coolies.  Their  wages  was  on  a  table  forninst  a 
big,  fine,  red  buck  av  a  man— sivun  fut  high,  four  fut  wide, 
an'  three  fut  thick,  wid  a  fist  on  him  like  a  corn-sack.  He 
was  payin'  the  coolies  fair  an'  easy,  but  he  wud  ask  each 
man  if  he  wud  raffle  that  month,  an'  each  man  sez,  '  Yes,'  av 
course.  Thin  he  wud  deduct  from  their  wages  accordin'. 
Whin  all  was  paid,  he  filled  an  ould  cigar-box  full  av  gun- 
wads  an'  scattered  ut  among  the  coolies.  They  did  not 
take  much  joy  av  that  performince,  an'  small  wondher.  A 
man  close  to  me  picks  up  a  black  gunwad  an'  sings  out,  '  I 
have  ut.'  '  Good  m.ay  ut  do  you,'  sez  I.  The  coolie  wint 
forward  to  this  big,  fine  red  man,  who  threw  a  cloth  off  of 
the  most  sumpshus,  jooled,  enamelled,  an'  variously  bediv- 
illed  sedan-chair  I  iver  saw." 

"  Sedan-chair!  Put  your  'ead  in  a  bag.  That  was  a  palan- 
quin. Don't  yer  know  a  palanquin  when  you  see  it?"  said 
Ortheris  with  great  scorn. 

"  I  chuse  to  call  ut  sedan-chair,  an'  chair  ut  shall  be,  little 
man,"  continued    the    Irishman.      "'Twas  a  most   amazin' 


12  2        INCA  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  Y. 

chair — all  lined  wid  pink  silk  an'  fitted  wid  red  silk  curtains. 
'  Here  ut  is,'  sez  the  red  man.  '  Here  ut  is,'  sez  the  coolie, 
an'  he  grinned  weakly  ways.  '  Is  ut  any  use  to  you?  '  sez  the 
red  man.  *  No,'  sez  the  coohe ;  '  I'd  like  to  make  a  presint 
av  ut  to  you.'  *I  am  graciously  pleased  to  accept  that 
same,'  sez  the  red  man;  an'  at  that  all  the  coolies  cried 
aloud  in  fwhat  was  mint  for  cheerful  notes,  an'  wint  back  to 
their  diggin',  lavin'  me  alone  in  the  shed.  The  red  man  saw 
me,  an'  his  face  grew  blue  on  his  big,  fat  neck.  *  Fwhat 
d'you  want  here?'  sez  he.  * Standin'-room  an'  no  more,'  sez 
I,  '  onless  it  may  be  fwhat  ye  niver  had,  an'  that's  manners, 
ye  rafflin'  ruffian,'  for  I  was  not  goin'  to  have  the  service 
throd  upon.  '  Out  of  this,'  sez  he.  *  I'm  in  charge  av  this 
section  av  construction.'  *  I'm  in  charge  av  mesilf,'  sez  I, 
*  an'  it's  like  I  will  stay  a  while.  D'ye  raffle  much  in  these 
parts?'  *Fwhat's  that  to  you?'  sez  he.  *Nothin','  sez  I, 
*but  a  great  dale  to  you,  for  begad  I'm  thinkin'  you  get  the 
full  half  av  your  revenue  from  that  sedan-chair.  Is  ut  always 
raffled  so?  '  I  sez,  an'  wid  that  I  wint  to  a  coolie  to  ask  ques- 
tions. Bhoys,  that  man's  name  is  Dearsley,  an'  he's  been 
rafflin'  that  ould  sedan-chair  monthly  this  matter  av  nine 
months.  Ivry  coolie  on  the  section  takes  a  ticket — or  he 
gives  'em  the  go — wanst  a  month  on  pay-day.  Ivry  coolie 
that  wins  ut  gives  ut  back  to  him,  for  'tis  too  big  to  carry 
away,  an'  he'd  sack  the  man  that  thried  to  sell  ut.  That 
Dearsley  has  been  makin'  the  rowlin'  wealth  av  Roshus  by 
nefarious  rafflin'.  Two  thousand  coolies  defrauded  wanst  a 
month!" 

"  Dom  t'  coolies.  Hast  gotten  t'  cheer,  man?"  said 
Learoyd. 

"  Hould  on.  Havin'  onearthed  this  amazin'  an'  stupenjus 
fraud  committed  by  the  man  Dearsley,  I  hild  a  council  av 
war;  he  thryin'  all  the  time  to  sejuce  me  into  a  fight  wid 
opprobrious  language.     That  sedan-chair  niver  belonged  by 


INCARNA  TIOX  OF  KRISHXA  MUL  VANE  V.         123 

right  to  any  foreman  av  coolies.  'Tis  a  king's  chair  or  a 
quane's.  There's  a  gold  on  ut  an'  silk  an'  all  manner  av  tra- 
pesemints.     Bhoys,  'tis  not  for  me  to  countenance  any  sort 

av  wrong-doin' — me  bein'  the  ould  man — but anyway  he 

has  had  ut  nine  months,  an'  he  dare  not  make  throuble  av  ut 
was  taken  from  him.   Five  miles  away,  or  ut  may  be  six " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  the  jackals  howled  merrily. 
Learoyd  bared  one  arm  and  contemplated  it  in  the  moon- 
hght.  Then  he  nodded  partly  to  himself  and  partly  to  his 
friends.     Ortheris  wriggled  with  suppressed  emotion. 

"  I  thought  ye  vvud  see  the  reasonableness  av  ut,"  said 
Mulvaney.  "  I  made  bould  to  say  as  much  to  the  man  be- 
fore. He  was  for  a  direct  front  attack — fut,  horse,  an'  guns 
an'  all  for  nothin',  seein'  that  I  had  no  transport  to  con- 
vey the  machine  away.  *  I  will  not  argue  wid  you,'  sez  I, 
'  this  day,  but  subsequintly.  Mister  Dearsley,  me  rafflin'  jool, 
we  talk  ut  out  lengthways.  'Tis  no  good  policy  to  swindle 
the  naygur  av  his  hard-earned  emolumints,  an'  by  presint  in- 
formashin' — 'twas  the  kyart  man  that  tould  me — '  ye've  been 
perpethrating  that  same  for  nine  months.  But  I'm  a  just 
man,'  sez  I,  'an'  overlookin'  the  presumpshin  that  yondher 
settee  wid  the  gilt  top  was  not  come  by  honust' — at  that  he 
turned  sky-green,  so  I  knew  things  was  more  thrue  than 
tellable — *  I'm  wiUin'  to  compound  the  felony  for  this  month's 
winnin's.'  " 

"  Ah!     Ho!  "  from  Learoyd  and  Ortheris. 

"That  man  Dearsley's  rushin'  on  his  fate,"  continued  ^lul- 
vaney,  solemnly  wagging  his  head.  "All  hell  had  no  name 
bad  enough  for  me  that  tide.  Faith,  he  called  me  a  robber! 
Me!  that  was  savin'  him  from  continuin'  in  his  evil  ways 
widout  a  remonstrince — an'  to  a  man  av  conscience  a  re- 
monstrince  may  change  the  chunc  av  his  life.  '  'Tis  not  for 
me  to  argue.'  sez  I,  '  fwhatevcr  ye  are.  Mister  Dearsley,  but 
by  my  hand  I'll  take  away  the  temptation  for  you  that  lies 


1 2  4        INC  A  RNA  T/OiV  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  Y. 

in  that  sedan-chair.'  *  You  will  have  to  fight  me  for  ut,'  sez 
he,  'for  well  I  know  you  will  never  dare  make  report  to  any- 
one.' *  Fight  I  will,'  sez  I,  *  but  not  this  day,  for  I'm  rejuced 
for  want  av  nourishment.'  '  Ye're  an  ould  bould  hand,'  sez 
he,  sizin'  me  up  an'  down;  an'  a  jool  av  a  fight  we  will 
have.  Eat  now  an'  dhrink,  an'  go  your  way.'  Wid  that  he 
gave  me  some  hump  an'  whiskey — good  whiskey — an'  we 
talked  av  this  an'  that  the  while.  *  It  goes  hard  on  me  now,' 
sez  I,  wipin'  my  mouth,  '  to  confiscate  that  piece  av  furni- 
ture, but  justice  is  justice.'  '  Ye've  not  get  ut  yet,'  sez  he; 
'there's  the  fight  between.'  'There  is,'  sez  I,  'an'  a  good 
fight.  Ye  shall  have  the  pick  av  the  best  quality  in  my  rigi- 
mint  for  the  dinner  you  have  given  this  day.'  Thin  I  came 
hot-foot  for  you  two.  Hould  your  tongue,  the  both.  'Tis 
this  way.  To-morrow  we  three  will  go  there  an'  he  shall 
have  his  pick  betune  me  an'  Jock.  Jock's  a  deceivin'  fighter, 
for  he  is  all  fat  to  the  eye,  an'  he  moves  slow.  Now  I'm  all 
beef  to  the  look,  an'  I  move  quick.  By  my  reckonin'  the 
Dearsley  man  won't  take  me ;  so  me  an'  Orth'ris  '11  see  fair 
play.  Jock,  I  tell  you,  'twill  be  big  fightin' — whipped,  wid 
the  cream  above  the  jam.  Afther  the  business  'twill  take  a 
good  three  av  us — Jock  '11  be  very  hurt — to  take  away  that 
sedan-chair." 

"  Palanquin."     This  from  Ortheris. 

"  Fwhatever  ut  is,  we  must  have  ut.  'Tis  the  only  sellin^ 
piece  av  property  widin  reach  that  we  can  get  so  cheap. 
An'  f what's  a  fight  afther  all?  He  has  robbed  the  naygur- 
man,  dishonust.     We  rob  him  honust." 

"  But  wot'll  we  do  with  the  bloomin'  harticle  when  we've 
got  it?  Them  palanquins  are  as  big  as  'ouses,  an'  uncom- 
mon 'ard  to  sell,  as  McCleary  said  when  ye  stole  the  sentry- 
box  from  the  Curragh." 

"  Who's  goin'  to  do  t'  fightin'  ?  "  said  Learoyd,  and  Ortheris 
subsided.     The  three  returned  to  barracks  without  a  word. 


nVCARA'A  TIOX  OF  KRISHXA  MUL  VANE  V.         125 

Mulvaney's  last  argument  clinched  the  matter.  This  palan- 
quin was  property,  vendible  and  to  be  attained  in  the  least 
embarrassing  fashion.  It  would  eventually  become  beer. 
Great  was  Mulvaney. 

Next  afternoon  a  procession  of  three  formed  itself  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  scrub  in  the  direction  of  the  new  railway 
line.  Learoyd  alone  was  without  care,  for  Mulvaney  dived 
darkly  into  the  future  and  little  Ortheris  feared  the  unknown. 

What  befell  at  that  interview  in  the  lonely  pay-shed  by  the 
side  of  the  half-built  embankment  only  a  few  hundred  coolies 
know,  and  their  tale  is  a  confusing  one,  running  thus: 

"  We  were  at  work.  Three  men  in  red  coats  came.  They 
saw  the  Sahib — Dearsley  Sahib.  They  made  oration,  and 
noticeably  the  small  man  among  the  red  coats.  Dearsley 
Sahib  also  made  oration,  and  used  many  very  strong  words. 
Upon  this  talk  they  departed  together  to  an  open  space,  and 
there  the  fat  man  in  the  red  coat  fought  with  Dearsley  Sahib 
after  the  custom  of  white  men — with  his  hands,  making  no 
noise,  and  never  at  all  pulling  Dearsley  Sahib's  hair.  Such 
of  us  as  were  not  afraid  beheld  these  things  for  just  so  long 
a  time  as  a  man  needs  to  cook  the  mid-day  meal.  The  small 
man  in  the  red  coat  had  possessed  himself  of  Dearsley  Sahib's 
watch.  No,  he  did  not  steal  that  watch.  He  held  it  in  his 
hands,  and  at  certain  seasons  made  outcry,  and  the  twain 
ceased  their  combat,  which  was  like  the  combat  of  young 
bulls  in  spring.  Both  men  were  soon  all  red,  but  Dearsley 
Sahib  was  much  more  red  than  the  other.  Seeing  this,  and 
fearingforhis  life — because  we  greatly  loved  him — some  fifty 
of  us  made  shift  to  rush  upon  the  red-coats.  But  a  certain 
man — very  black  as  to  the  hair,  and  in  no  way  to  be  confused 
with  the  small  man,  or  the  fat  man  who  fought — that  man, 
we  affirm,  ran  upon  us,  and  of  us  he  embraced  some  ten  or 
fifty  in  both  arms,  and  beat  our  heads  together,  so  that  our 
livers  turned  to  water,  and  we  ran  away.     It  is  not  good  to 


1 2  6         IXC  A  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  V. 

interfere  in  the  fightings  of  white  men.  After  that  Dearsley 
Sahib  fell  and  did  not  rise,  these  men  jumped  upon  his  stom- 
ach and  despoiled  him  of  all  his  money,  and  attempted  to  fire 
the  pay-shed,  and  departed.  Is  it  true  that  Dearsley  Sahib 
makes  no  complaint  of  these  latter  things  having  been  done? 
We  were  senseless  with  fear,  and  do  not  at  all  remember. 
There  was  no  palanquin  near  the  pay-shed.  What  do  we 
know  about  palanquins?  Is  it  true  that  Dearsley  Sahib  does 
not  return  to  this  place,  on  account  of  his  sickness,  for  ten 
days?  This  is  the  fault  of  those  bad  men  in  the  red  coats, 
who  should  be  severely  punished ;  for  Dearsley  Sahib  is  both 
our  father  and  mother,  and  we  love  him  much.  Yet  if  Dears- 
ley  Sahib  does  not  return  to  this  place  at  all,  we  will  speak 
the  truth.  There  was  a  palanquin,  for  the  up-keep  of  which 
we  were  forced  to  pay  nine-tenths  of  our  monthly  wage.  On 
such  mulctings  Dearsley  Sahib  allowed  us  to  make  obeisance 
to  him  before  the  palanquin.  What  could  we  do?  We  were 
poor  men.  He  took  a  full  half  of  our  wages.  Will  the  gov- 
ernment repay  us  those  moneys?  Those  three  men  in  red 
coats  bore  the  palanquin  upon  their  shoulders  and  departed. 
All  the  money  that  Dearsley  Sahib  had  taken  from  us  was  in 
the  cushions  of  that  palanquin.  Therefore  they  stole  it. 
Thousands  of  rupees  were  there — all  our  money.  It  was  our 
bank-box,  to  fill  which  we  cheerfully  contributed  to  Dearsley 
Sahib  three-sevenths  of  our  monthly  wage.  Why  does  the 
white  man  look  upon  us  with  the  eye  of  disfavor?  Before 
God,  there  was  a  palanquin,  and  now  there  is  no  palanquin-, 
and  if  they  send  the  police  here  to  make  inquisition,  we  can 
only  say  that  there  never  has  been  any  palanquin.  Why 
should  a  palanquin  be  near  these  works?  We  are  poor  men, 
and  we  know  nothing." 

Such  is  the  simplest  version  of  the  simplest  story  connected 
with  the  descent  upon  Dearsley.  From  the  lips  of  the  coo- 
lies I  received  it.     Dearsley  himself  was  in  no  condition  to 


INCARXATJO.y  OF  KRISHXA   MULVANEY.  127 

say  anything,  and  Mulvaney  preserved  a  massive  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  occasional  licking  of  the  lips.  He  had 
seen  a  fight  so  gorgeous  that  even  his  power  of  speech  was 
taken  from  him.  I  respected  that  reserve  until,  three  days 
after  the  aCfair,  I  discovered  in  a  disused  stable  in  my  quar- 
ters a  palanquin  of  unchastened  splendor — evidently  in  past 
days  the  litter  of  a  queen.  The  pole  whereby  it  swung  be- 
tween the  shoulders  of  the  bearers  was  rich  with  the  paiQted 
j>apier-mach^  oi  Cashmere.  The  shoulder-pads  were  of  yel- 
low silk.  The  panels  of  the  litter  itself  were  ablaze  with  the 
loves  of  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  the  Hindoo  Pantheon 
• — lacquer  on  cedar.  The  cedar  sliding  doors  were  fitted  with 
hasps  of  translucent  Jaipur  enamel  and  ran  in  grooves  shod 
with  silver.  The  cushions  were  of  brocaded  Delhi  silk^  and 
the  curtains  which  once  hid  any  glimpse  of  the  beauty  of  the 
king's  palace  were  stiff  with  gold.  Closer  investigation 
showed  that  the  entire  fabric  was  everywhere  rubbed  and 
discolored  by  time  and  wear;  but  even  thus  it  was  suffi- 
ciently gorgeous  to  deserve  housing  on  the  threshold  of  a 
royal  zenana.  I  found  no  fault  with  it,  except  that  it  was  in 
my  stable.  Then,  trying  to  lift  it  by  the  silvershod  shoulder 
pole,  I  laughed.  The  road  from  Dearsleys  pay-shed  to  the 
cantonment  was  a  narrow  and  uneven  one,  and  traversed  by 
three  very  inexperienced  palanquin-bearers,  one  of  whom 
was  sorely  battered  about  the  head,  must  have  been  a  path 
of  torment.  Still  I  did  not  quite  recognize  the  right  of  the 
three  musketeers  to  turn  me  into  a  "fence." 

"  I'm  askin'  you  to  warehouse  ut,"  said  INIulvaney,  when 
he  was  brought  to  consider  the  question.  "There's  no  steal 
in  ut.  Dearsley  tould  us  we  cud  have  ut  if  we  fought. 
Jock  fought — an'  O  sorr,  when  the  throuble  was  at  uts  finest 
an'  Jock  was  bleedin'  like  a  stuck  pig,  an'  little  Orth'ris  was 
shquealin'  on  one  leg  cliewin'  big  bites  out  av  Dearsley's 
watch,  I  wud  ha'  given  my  plaoe  at  the  fight  to  have  had  you 


128         INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY, 

see  wan  round.  He  tuk  Jock,  as  I  suspicioned  he  would, 
an'  Jock  was  deceptive.     Nine  roun's  they  were  even  matched, 

an'  at  the  tenth About  that  palanquin  now.    There's  not 

the  least  trouble  in  the  world,  or  we  wud  not  ha'  brought  ut 
here.  You  will  ondherstand  that  the  queen — God  bless 
her! — does  not  reckon  for  a  privit  soldier  to  kape  elephints 
an'  palanquins  an'  sich  in  barricks.  Afther  we  had  dhragged 
ut  down  from  Dearsley's  through  that  cruel  scrub  that  n'r 
broke  Orth'ris'  heart,  we  set  ut  in  the  ravine  for  a  night;  an' 
a  thief  av  a  porcupine  an'  a  civet-cat  av  a  jackal  roosted  in 
ut,  as  well  we  knew  in  the  mornin".  I  put  ut  to  you,  sorr,  is 
an  elegant  palanquin,  fit  for  the  princess,  the  natural  abidin' 
place  av  all  the  vermin  in  cantonmints?  We  brought  ut  to 
you,  afther  dhark,  and  put  ut  in  your  shtable.  Do  not  let 
your  conscience  prick.  Think  av  the  rejoicin'  men  in  the 
pay-shed  yonder — lookin'  at  Dearsley  wid  his  head  tied  up 
in  a  towel — an'  well  knowin'  that  they  can  dhraw  their  pay 
ivery  month  widout  stoppages  for  rififles.  Indirectly,  sorr, 
you  have  rescued  from  an  onprincipled  son  av  a  night-hawk 
the  peasantry  av  a  numerous  village.  An'  besides,  will  I  let 
that  sedan-chair  rot  on  our  hands?  Not  I.  'Tis  not  every 
day  a  piece  av  pure  joolry  comes  into  the  market.  There's 
not  a  king  widin  these  forty  miles " — he  waved  his  hand 
round  the  dusty  horizon — "not  a  king  wud  not  be  glad  to 
buy  ut.  Some  day  meself,  whin  I  have  leisure,  I'll  take  ut 
up  along  the  road  an'  dispose  av  ut." 

"How?"  said  I. 

"  Get  into  ut,  av  course,  an'  keep  wan  eye  open  through 
the  curtain.  Whin  I  see  a  likely  man  of  the  native  persua- 
sion, I  will  descend  blushin'  from  my  canopy  and  say:  'Buy 
a  palanquin,  ye  black  scutt?'  I  will  have  to  hire  four  men 
to  carry  me  first,  though;  and  that's  impossible  till  next  pay- 
day." 

Curiously  enough,  Learoyd,  who  had  fought  for  the  prize, 


INCARNATION  OF  KRISHNA  MULVANEY.         129 

and  in  the  winning  secured  the  highest  pleasure  life  had  to 
offer  him,  was  altogether  disposed  to  undervalue  it,  while 
Ortheris  openly  said  it  would  be  better  to  break  the  thing 
up.  Dearsley,  he  argued,  might  be  a  many-sided  man,  capa- 
ble, despite  his  magnificent  fighting  qualities,  of  setting  in 
motion  the  machinery  of  the  civil  law,  a  thing  much  ab- 
horred by  the  soldier.  Under  any  circumstances  their  fun 
had  come  and  passed  ;  the  next  pay-day  was  close  at  hand, 
when  there  would  be  beer  for  all.  Wherefore  longer  con- 
serve the  painted  palanquin? 

"A  first-class  rifle-shot  an'  a  good  little  man  av  your  mches 
you  are,"  said  Mulvaney.  "But  youniver  had  a  head  worth 
a  soft-boiled  egg.  'Tisme  has  to  lie  awake  av  nights  scham- 
in'  an'  plottin'  for  the  three  av  us.  Orth'ris,  me  son,  'tis  no 
matther  av  a  few  gallons  av  beer — no,  nor  twenty  gallons — 
but  tubs  an'  vats  an'  firkins  in  that  sedan-chair." 

Meantime  the  palanquin  stayed  in  my  stall,  the  key  of 
which  was  in  Mulvaney's  hands. 

Pay-day  came,  and  with  it  beer.  It  was  not  in  experience 
to  hope  that  Mulvaney,  dried  by  four  weeks'  drought,  would 
avoid  excess.  Next  morning  he  and  the  palanquin  had  dis- 
appeared. He  had  taken  the  precaution  of  getting  three 
days'  leave  "  to  see  a  friend  on  the  railway,''  and  the  colonel, 
well  knowing  that  the  seasonal  outburst  was  near,  and  hop- 
ing it  would  spend  its  force  beyond  the  limits  of  his  jurisdic- 
tion, cheerfully  gave  him  all  he  demanded.  At  this  point 
his  history,  as  recorded  in  the  mess-room,  stopped. 

Ortheris  carried  it  not  much  further.  "No,  'e  wasn't 
drunk,"  said  the  little  man  loyally,  "  the  liquor  was  no  more 
than  feelin'  its  way  round  inside  of  'im ;  but  'e  went  an'  filled 
that  'ole  bloomin'  palanquin  with  bottles  'fore  'e  went  off. 
He's  gone  an'  'ired  six  men  to  carry  'im,  an'  I  'ad  to  'elp 
'im  into  'is  nupshal  couch,  'cause  'e  wouldn't  'ear  reason. 
'  E's  gone  off  in  'is  shirt  an'  trousies,  swearin'  tremenjus — • 
9 


1 3  o        IXC  A  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  J  \4  NE  V. 

gone  down  the  road  in  the  palanquin,  wavin'  'is  legs  out  o 
windy." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "but  where?" 

"  Now  you  arx  me  a  question.  'E  said  'e  was  going  to  sell 
that  palanquin,  but  from  observations  what  happened  when 
I  was  stuffin'  'im  through  the  door  I  fancy  'e's  gone  to  the 
new  embankment  to  mock  at  Dearsley.  Soon  as  Jock's  off 
duty  I'm  going  there  to  see  if  'e's  safe — not  Mulvaney,  but 
t'other  man.  My  saints,  but  I  pity  'im  as  'elps  Terence  out 
o'  the  palanquin  when  'e's  once  fair  drunk! " 

"  He'll  come  back,"  I  said. 

"'Corse  'e  will.  On'y  question  is,  what'll  'e  be  doin'  on 
the  road.  Killing  Dearsley,  like  as  not.  'E  shouldn't  'a  gone 
without  Jock  or  me." 

Reinforced  by  Learoyd,  Ortheris  sought  the  foreman  of 
the  coolie-gang.  Dearsley's  head  was  still  embellished  with 
towels.  Mulvaney,  drunk  or  sober,  would  have  struck  no 
man  in  that  condition,  and  Dearsley  indignantly  denied  that 
he  would  have  taken  advantage  of  the  intoxicated  brave. 

"  I  had  my  pick  o'  you  two,"  he  explained  to  Learoyd, 
"and  you  got  my  palanquin — not  before  I'd  made  my  profit 
on  it.  Why'd  I  do  harm  when  everything's  settled?  Your 
man  £^id  come  here — drunk  as  Davy's  sow  on  a  frosty  night 
— came  a-purpose  to  mock  me — stuck  his  head  out  of  the 
door  an'  called  me  a  crucified  hodman.  I  made  him  drunker, 
an'  sent  him  along.     But  I  never  touched  him." 

To  these  things  Learoyd,  slow  to  perceive  the  evidences 
of  sincerity,  answered  only,  "  If  owt  comes  to  Mulvaney  'long 
o'  you,  I'll  gripple  you,  clouts  or  no  clouts  on  your  ugly  head, 
an'  I'll  draw  t'  throat  twisty-ways,  man.     See  there  now." 

The  embassy  removed  itself,  and  Dearsley,  the  battered, 
laughed  alone  over  his  supper  that  evening. 

Three  days  passed— a  fourth  and  a  fifth.  The  week  drew 
to  a  close  and  Mulvaney  did  not  return.     He,  his  royal  pal- 


INCA  KXA  r/O.V  OF  KRISHXA  M  UL  VA  XE  Y.         1 3  I 

anquin,  and  his  six  attendants  had  vanished  into  air.  A  very 
large  and  very  tipsy  soldier,  his  feet  sticking  out  of  the  litter 
of  a  reigning  princess,  is  not  a  thing  to  travel  along  the  ways 
M'ithout  comment.  Yet  no  man  of  all  the  country  round  had 
seen  any  such  wonder.  He  was,  and  he  was  not;  and  Learoyd 
suggested  the  immediate  smashment  as  a  sacrifice  to  his 
ghost.     Ortheris  insisted  that  all  was  well. 

"When  r^Iulvaney  goes  up  the  road,"  said  he,  " 'e's  like 
to  go  a  very  long  ways  up,  especially  when  'e's  so  blue  drunk 
as  'e  is  now.  But  what  gits  me  is  'is  not  bein'  'eard  of 
pullin'  wool  of  the  niggers  somewheres  about.  That  don't 
look  good.  The  drink  must  ha'  died  out  in  'im  by  this,  un- 
less 'e's  broke  a  bank,  an'  then Why  don't  'e  come  back? 

'E  didn't  ought  to  ha'  gone  off  without  us." 

Even  Ortheris'  heart  sank  at  the  end  of  the  seventh  day, 
for  half  the  regiment  were  out  scouring  the  countryside,  and 
Learoyd  had  been  forced  to  fight  two  men  who  hinted  openly 
that  Mulvaney  had  deserted.  To  do  him  justice,  the  colonel 
laughed  at  the  notion,  even  when  it  was  put  forward  by  his 
much-trusted  adjutant. 

"  Mulvaney  would  as  soon  think  of  deserting  as  you  would," 
said  he.  "No;  he's  either  fallen  into  a  mischief  among  the 
villagers — and  yet  that  isn't  likely,  for  he'd  blarney  himself 
out  of  the  pit:  or  else  he  is  engaged  on  urgent  private  affairs 
— some  stupenduous  devilment  that  we  shall  hear  of  at  mess 
after  it  has  been  the  round  of  the  barrack-rooms.  The  worst 
of  it  is  that  I  shall  have  to  give  him  twenty-eight  days'  con- 
finement at  least  for  being  absent  without  leave,  just  when  I 
most  want  him  to  lick  the  new  batch  of  recruits  into  shape. 
I  never  knew  a  man  who  could  put  a  polish  on  young  sol- 
diers as  quickly  as  Mulvaney  can.     How  does  he  do  it?  " 

"  With  blarney  and  the  buckle-end  of  a  belt,  sir,"  said  the 
adjutant.  "  He  is  worth  a  con})le  of  non-commissioned 
oflicers  when  we  are  dealing  with  an   Irish  draft,  and  the 


1 3  2         lA'CA  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  Y. 

London  lads  seem  to  adore  him.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  if 
he  goes  to  the  cells  the  other  two  are  neither  to  hold  nor  to 
bind  till  he  comes  out  again.  I  believe  Ortheris  preaches 
mutiny  on  these  occasions,  and  I  know  that  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  Learoyd  mourning  for  Mulvaney  kills  all  the  cheer- 
fulness of  his  room.  The  sergeants  tell  me  that  he  allows  no 
man  to  laugh  when  he  feels  unhappy.  They  are  a  queer 
gang." 

"  For  all  that,  I  wish  we  had  a  few  more  of  them.  I  like 
a  well-conducted  regiment,  but  these  pasty-faced,  shifty-eyed, 
mealy-mouthed  young  slouchers  from  the  depot  worry  me 
sometimes  with  their  offensive  virtue.  They  don't  seem  to 
have  backbone  enough  to  do  anything  but  play  cards  and 
prowl  round  the  married  quarters.  I  believe  I'd  forgive  that 
old  villain  on  the  spot  if  he  turned  up  with  any  sort  of  ex- 
planation that  I  could  in  decency  accept." 

"  Not  likely  to  be  much  difficulty  about  that,  sir,"  said  the 
adjutant,  "  Mulvaney's  explanations  are  only  one  degree 
less  wonderful  than  his  performances.  They  say  that  when 
he  was  in  the  Black  Tyrone,  before  he  came  to  us,  he  was 
discovered  on  the  banks  of  the  Liffey  trying  to  sell  his 
colonel's  charger  to  a  Donegal  dealer  as  a  perfect  lady's 
hack.     Shakbolt  commanded  the  Tyrone  then." 

"  Shakbolt  must  have  had  apoplexy  at  the  thought  of  his 
ramping  war-horses  answering  to  that  description.  He  used 
to  buy  unbacked  devils  and  tame  them  by  starvation.  What 
did  Mulvaney  say?  " 

"  That  he  was  a  member  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention 
of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  anxious  to  '  sell  the  poor  baste  where 
he  would  get  something  to  fill  out  his  dimples.'  Shakbolt 
laughed,  but  I  fancy  that  was  why  Mulvaney  exchanged  to 
ours." 

"I  wish  he  were  back,"  said  the  colonel;  "for  I  like  him 
and  believe  he  likes  mo." 


IXCARXA  T/O.V  OF  A'R/S//XA   M  UL  VANE  Y.         133 

That  evening,  to  cheer  our  souls,  Learoyd,  Ortheris,  and 
I  went  into  the  waste  to  smoke  out  a  porcupine.  All  the 
dogs  attended,  but  even  their  clamor — and  they  began  to  dis- 
cuss the  shortcomings  of  porcupines  before  they  left  canton- 
ments— could  not  take  us  out  of  ourselves.  A  large,  low 
moon  turned  the  tops  of  the  plume  grass  to  silver,  and  the 
stunted  camel-thorn  bushes  and  sour  tamarisks  into  the  like- 
ness of  trooping  devils.  The  smell  of  the  sun  had  not  left 
the  earth,  and  little  aimless  winds,  blowing  across  the  rose 
gardens  to  the  southward,  brought  the  scent  of  dried  roses 
and  water.  Our  fire  once  started,  and  the  dogs  craftily  dis- 
posed to  wait  the  dash  of  the  porcupine,  we  climbed  to  the 
top  of  a  rain-scarred  hillock  of  earth,  and  looked  across  the 
scrub,  seamed  with  cattle  paths,  white  with  the  long  grass, 
and  dotted  with  spots  of  level  pond-bottom,  where  the  snipe 
would  gather  in  winter. 

"  This,"  said  Ortheris,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  took  in  the  un- 
kempt desolation  of  it  all,  "this  is  sanguinary.  This  is  unu- 
sual sanguinary  Sort  o'  mad  country.  Like  a  grate  when 
the  fire's  put  out  by  the  sun.'"  He  shaded  his  eyes  against 
the  moonlight.  "An'  there's  a  loony  dancin'  in  the  middle 
of  it  all.  Quite  right.  I'd  dance,  too,  if  I  wasn't  so  down- 
heart." 

There  pranced  a  portent  in  the  face  of  the'  moon — a  huge 
and  ragged  spirit  of  the  waste,  that  flapped  its  wings  from 
afar.  It  had  risen  out  of  the  earth ;  it  was  coming  toward 
us,  and  its  outline  was  never  twice  the  sar.ie.  The  toga, 
table-cloth,  or  dressing-gown,  whatever  the  creature  wore, 
took  a  hundred  shapes.  Once  it  sto])ped  on  a  neighboring 
mound  and  flung  all  its  legs  and  arms  to  the  winds. 

"My,  but  that  scarecrow  'as  got  'em  bad!  "  said  Ortheris. 
"  Seems  like  if  'e  comes  any  furder  we'll  'ave  to  argify  with 
'im." 

Learoyd  raised  himsc-lf  from  the  d'rt  as  a  bull  clears  his 


134         JNCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VANE  Y. 

flanks  of  the  wallow.  And  as  a  bull  bellows,  so  he,  after  a 
short  minute  at  gaze,  gave  tongue  to  the  stars. 

"  Mulvaney  !   Mulvaney  !     A  hoo  !  " 

Then  we  yelled  all  together,  and  the  figure  dipped  into  the 
hollow  till,  with  a  crash  of  rending  grass,  the  lost  one  strode 
up  to  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  disappeared  to  the  waist  in  a 
wave  of  joyous  dogs.  Then  Learoyd  and  Ortheris  gave 
greeting  bass  and  falsetto. 

'•'  You  damned  fool  !  "  said  they  and  severally  punched 
him  with  their  fists. 

"  Go  easy  ! "  he  answered,  wrapping  a  huge  arm  around 
each.  "  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  I  am  a  god,  to  be 
treated  as  such — though,  by  my  faith,  I  fancy  I've  got  to  go 
to  the  guard-room  just  like  a  privit  soldier." 

The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  destroyed  the  suspicions 
raised  by  the  former.  Any  one  would  have  been  justified 
in  regarding  Mulvaney  as  mad.  He  was  hatlesss  and  shoe- 
less, and  his  shirt  and  trousers  were  dropping  off  him.  But 
he  wore  one  wondrous  garment — a  gigantic  cloak  that  fell 
from  collar-bone  to  heels — of  pale  pink  silk,  wrought  all 
over,  in  cunningest  needlework  of  hands  long  since  dead, 
with  the  loves  of  the  Hindoo  gods.  The  monstrous  figures 
leaped  in  and  out  of  the  light  of  the  fire  as  he  settled  the 
folds  round  him. 

Ortheris  handled  the  stuff  respectfully  for  a  moment  while 
I  was  trying  to  remember  where  I  had  seen  it  before. 

Then  he  screamed:  "What  ^ave  you  done  with  the  palan- 
quin ?     You're  wearin'  the  linin'." 

"I  am,"  said  the  Irishman,  "an'  by  the  same  token  the 
'broidery  is  scrapin'  me  hide  off.  I'veHved  in  thissumpshus 
counterpane  for  four  days.  Me  son,  I  begin  to  ondherstand 
why  the  naygur  is  no  use.  Widout  me  boots,  an'  me  trousers 
like  an  open-work  stocking  on  a  gyurl's  leg  at  a  dance,  I  be- 
gan to  feel  like  a  naygur — all  timoreous.  Give  me  a  pipe 
an'  I'll  tell  on." 


IKCA  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  V.         135 

He  lit  a  pipe,  resumed  his  grip  of  his  two  friends,  and 
rocked  to  and  fro  in  a  gale  of  laughter. 

"  Mulvaney,"  said  Ortheris  sternly,  "'tain't  no  time  for 
laughin'.  You've  given  Jock  an'  me  more  trouble  than  you're 
worth.  You  'ave  been  absent  without  leave,  and  you'll  go 
into  the  cells  for  that  ;  an'  you  'ave  come  back  disgustingly 
dressed  an'  most  improper  in  the  linin'  o'  that  bloomin'  pal- 
anquin. Instid  of  which  you  laugh.  An'  we  thought  you 
was  dead  all  the  time." 

"  Bhoys,"  said  the  culprit,  still  shaking  gently,  "  whin  I've 
done  my  tale  you  may  cry  if  you  hke,  an'  little  Orth'ris  here 
can  thrample  my  insides  out.  Ha'  done  an'  listen.  My 
performinces  have  been  stupenjus  ;  my  luck  has  been  the 
blessed  luck  of  the  British  army — an'  there's  no  better  than 
that.  I  went  out  drunk  an'  drinking  in  the  palanquin,  and 
I  have  come  back  a  pink  god.  Did  any  of  you  go  to  Dears- 
ley  afther  my  time  was  up  ?     He  was  at  the  bottom  of  ut  all." 

"Ah  said  so,"  murmured  Learoyd.  "To-morrow  ah'U 
smash  t'  face  in  upon  his  head." 

"  Ye  will  not.  Dearsley's  a  jool  av  a  man.  After  Orth'ris 
had  put  me  into  the  palanquin  an'  the  six  bearer-men  were 
gruntin'  down  the  road,  I  tuk  thought  to  mock  Dearsley  for 
that  fight.  So  I  tould  thim,  'Go  to  the  embankment,'  and 
there,  bein'  most  amazin'  full,  I  shtuck  my  head  out  av  the 
concern  an'  passed  compliments  wid  Dearsley.  I  must  ha' 
miscalled  him  outrageous,  for  whin  I  am  that  way  the  power 
of  the  tongue  comes  on  me.  I  can  bare  remimber  tellin' 
him  that  his  mouth  opened  endways  like  the  mouth  of  a 
skate,  which  was  thrue  afther  Learoyd  had  handled  ut  ;  an' 
I  clear  remimber  his  taking  no  manner  nor  matter  of  ofifence, 
but  givin'  me  a  big  dhrink  of  beer.  '  Twas  the  beer  that  did 
the  thrick,  for  I  crawled  back  into  the  palanquin,  steppin' 
on  me  right  ear  wid  me  left  foot,  an'  thin  I  slept  like  the 
dead.     Wanst  I  half  roused,  an'  begad  the  noise  in  my  head 


1 3  6         INC  A  RNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  V. 

was  tremenjus — roarin'  an'  poundin'  an'  rattlin'  such  as  was 
quite  new  to  me.  '  Mother  av  Mercy,'  thinks  I, '  phwat  a  con- 
certina I  will  have  on  my  shoulders  whin  I  wake  !  An* 
wid  that  I  curls  myself  up  to  sleep  before  ut  should  get  hould 
on  me.  Bhoys,  that  noise  was  not  dhrink,  ^twas  the  rattle 
av  a  train  !  " 

There  followed  an  impressive  pause. 

"Yes,  he  had  put  me  on  a  thrain — put  me,  palanquin  an' 
all,  an'  six  black  assassins  av  his  own  coolies  that  was  in  his 
nefarious  confidence,  on  the  flat  av  a  ballast-truck,  and  we 
were  rowlin'  and  bowlin'  along  to  Benares.  Glory  be  that  I 
did  not  wake  up  then  an'  introjuce  myself  to  the  coolies. 
As  I  was  sayin',  I  slept  for  the  better  part  av  a  day  an'  a 
night.  But  remimber  you,  that  that  man  Dearsley  had 
packed  me  off  on  one  av  his  material  thrains  to  Benares,  all 
for  to  make  me  overstay  my  leave  an'  get  me  into  the  cells." 

The  explanation  was  an  eminently  rational  one.  Benares 
was  at  least  ten  hours  by  rail  from  the  cantonments,  and  noth- 
ing in  the  world  could  have  saved  Mulvaney  from  arrest  as 
a  deserter  had  he  appeared  there  in  the  apparel  of  his  orgies. 
Dearsley  had  not  forgotten  to  take  revenge.  Learoyd, 
drawing  back  a  little,  began  to  place  soft  blows  over  selected 
portions  of  IMulvaney's  body.  His  thoughts  were  away  on 
the  embankment,  and  they  meditated  evil  for  Dearsley. 
Mulvaney  continued  :  "  Whin  I  was  full  awake  the  palanquin 
was  set  down  in  a  street,  I  suspicioned,  for  I  could  hear  people 
passin'  and  talkin'.  But  I  knew  well  I  was  far  from  home. 
There  is  a  queer  smell  upon  our  cantonments — smell  av  dried 
earth  and  brick-kilns  wid  wiffs  av  a  cavalry  stable-litter. 
This  place  smelt  marigold  flowers  an'  bad  water,  an'  wanst 
somethin'  ahve  came  an'  blew  heavy  with  his  muzzle  at  the 
chink  of  the  shutter.  '  It's  in  a  village  I  am,'  thinks  I  to 
myself,  'an'  the  parochial  buffalo  is  investigatin'  the  palan- 
quin.'    But  anyways  I  had  no  desire  to  move.     Onlv  lie  still 


INC  A  R.\  'A  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VA  NE  Y.         137 

whin  you're  in  foreign  parts  an'  the  standin'  luck  av  the  Brit- 
ish army  will  carry  ye  through.  That  is  an  epigram.  I  made  ut. 

''  Thin  a  lot  av  whisperin'  devils  surrounded  the  palanquin. 
*Take  ut  up,'  says  wan  man.  '  But  who'll  pay  us  ?  '  says  an- 
other. 'The  Maharanee's  minister,  av  course,'  sez  the  man. 
*  Oho  ! '  sez  I  to  myself  ;  *  I'm  a  quane  in  me  own  right,  wid 
a  minister  to  pay  me  expenses.  '  I'll  be  an  emperor  if  I  lie 
still  long  enough.  But  this  is  no  village  I've  struck.'  I  lay 
quiet,  but  I  gummed  me  right  eye  to  a  crack  av  the  shutters, 
an'  I  saw  that  the  whole  street  was  crammed  wid  palanquins 
an'  horses  an'  a  sprinklin'  av  naked  priests,  all  yellow  powder 
an'  tigers'  tails.  But  I  may  tell  you,  OrthVis,  an'  you,  Lea- 
royd,  that  av  all  the  palanquins  ours  was  the  most  imperial 
an'  magnificent.  Now  a  palanquin  means  a  native  lady  all 
the  world  over,  except  whin  a  soldier  av  the  quane  happens 
to  be  takin'  a  ride.  '  Women  an'  priest  ! '  sez  I.  '  Your 
father's  son  is  in  the  right  pew  this  time,  Tere..ce.  There 
will  be  proceedings.'  Six  black  devils  in  pink  muslin  tuk  up 
the  palanquin'  an'  oh  !  but  the  rowlin  an'  the  rockin'  made 
me  sick.  Thin  we  got  fair  jammed  among  the  palanquins 
—  not  more  than  fifty  av  them — an'  we  grated  an'  bumped 
like  Queenstown  potato-smacks  in  a  runnin'  tide.  I  cud 
hear  the  women  gigglin'  and  squirmin'  in  their  palanquins, 
but  mine  was  the  royal  equipage.  They  made  way  for  ut, 
an',  begad,  the  pink  muslin  men  o'  mine  were  howlin',  *  Room 
for  the  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun.'  Do  you  know  av 
the  lady,  sorr  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "She  is  a  very  estimable  old  queen  of  the 
Central  India  States,  and  they  say  she  is  fat.  How  on  earth 
could  she  go  to  Benares  without  all  the  city  knowing  her 
palanquin  ?  '' 

" 'Twas  the  eternal  foolishness  av  the  naygur-men.  They 
saw  the  palanquin  lying  loncfiil  an'  forlornsome,  an'  the 
beauty  of  ut,  after  Dearsley's  men  had  dhroppcd  ut  an  gone 


138        INCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  MUL  VANE  V. 

away,  an'  they  gave  ut  the  best  name  that  occurred  to  thim. 
Quite  right  too.  For  aught  we  know  the  old  lady  was  trav- 
elling mcog. — like  me.  I'm  glad  to  hear  she's  fat.  I  was  no 
light-weight  myself,  an'  my  men  were  mortial  anxious  to  dhrop 
me  under  a  great  big  archway  promiscuously  ornamented  wid 
the  most  improper  carvin's  an'  cuttin's  I  iver  saw.  Begad  ! 
they  made  me  blush — Hke  a  maharanee." 

"  The  temple  of  the  Prithi-Devi,"  I  murmured,  remember- 
ing the  monstrous  horrors  of  that  sculptured  archway  at 
Benares. 

"  Pretty  Devilskins,  savin'  your  presence,  sorr.  There  was 
nothin'  pretty  about  ut,  except  me  !  'Twas  all  half  dhark, 
an'  whin  the  cooHes  left  they  shut  a  big  black  gate  behind 
av  us,  an'  half  a  company  av  fat  yellow  priests  began  pully- 
haulin'  the  palanquins  into  a  dharker  place  yet — a  big  stone 
hall  full  av  pillars  an'  gods  an'  incense  an'  all  manner  av  sim- 
ilar thruck.  The  gate  disconcerted  me,  for  I  perceived  I  wud 
have  to  go  forward  to  get  out,  my  retreat  bein'  cut  off.  By 
the  same  token  a  good  priest  makes  a  bad  palanquin-coolie. 
Begad!  they  nearly  turned  me  inside  out  dragging  the  palan- 
quin to  the  temple.  Now  the  disposishin  av  the  forces  in- 
side was  this  way.  The  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun — that 
was  me — lay  by  the  favor  of  Providence  on  the  far  left  flank 
behind  the  dhark  av  a  pillar  carved  with  elephants'  heads. 
The  remainder  av  the  palanquins  was  in  a  big  half  circle 
facing  into  the  biggest,  fattest,  and  most  amazin'  she-god  that 
iver  I  dreamed  av.  Her  head  ran  up  into  the  black  above 
us,  an'  her  feet  stuck  out  in  the  light  av  a  little  fire  av  melted 
butter  that  a  priest  was  feedin'  out  av  a  butter-dish.  Thin 
a  man  began  to  sing  an'  play  on  somethin,  back  in  the  dhark, 
an'  'twas  a  queer  song.  Ut  made  my  hair  lift  on  the  back 
av  my  neck.  Thin  the  doors  av  all  the  palanquins  slid  back, 
an'  the  women  bundled  out.  I  saw  what  I'll  never  see  again, 
'Twas  more  glorious  than  transformations  at  a  pantomime. 


INCARNA  TION  OF  KIIRISNA  MULVANEY,         1 39 

for  they  was  in  pink,  an'  blue,  an'  silver,  an'  red,  an'  grass- 
green,  wid  diamonds,  an'  imralds,  an'  great  red  rubies.  I 
never  saw  the  like,  an'  I  never  will  again." 

''  Seeing  that  in  all  probability  you  were  watching  the  wives 
and  daughters  of  most  of  the  kings  of  India,  the  chances  are 
that  you  won't,"  I  said,  for  it  was  dawning  upon  me  that  Mul- 
vaney  had  stumbled  upon  a  big  queens'  praying  at  Benares. 

"  I  niver  will,"  he  said  mournfully.  "  That  sight  doesn't 
come  twist  to  any  man.  It  made  me  ashamed  to  watch.  A 
fat  priest  knocked  at  my  door.  I  didn't  think  he'd  have  the 
insolince  to  disturb  the  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun,  so 
I  lay  still.  *  The  old  cow's  asleep,'  sez  he  to  another.  *  Let 
her  be,  sez  that.  "Twill  be  long  before  she  has  a  calf!' 
I  might  ha'  known  before  he  spoke  that  all  a  woman  prays 
for  in  Injia — an'  for  matter  o'  that  in  England  too — is  childher. 
That  made  me  more  sorry  I'd  come,  me  bein',  as  you  well 
know,  a  childless  man. 

"  They  prayed,  an'  the  butter-fires  blazed  up  an'  the  in- 
cense turned  everything  blue,  an'  between  that  an'  the  fires 
the  women  looked  as  tho'  they  were  all  ablaze  an'  twinklin'. 
They  took  hold  of  the  she-god's  knees,  they  cried  out  an' 
they  threw  themselves  about,  an'  that  world-without-end- 
amen  music  was  dhrivin'  thim  mad.  Mother  av  Hiven!  how 
they  cried,  an'  the  ould  she-god  grinnin'  above  them  all  so 
scornful!  The  dhrink  was  dyin'  out  in  me  fast,  an^  I  was 
thinkin'  harder  than  the  thoughts  wud  go  through  my  head 
— thinkin'  how  to  get  out  an'  all  manner  of  nonsense  as  well. 
The  women  were  rockin'  in  rows,  their  di'mond  belts  clickin', 
an'  the  tears  runnin'  out  betune  their  hands,  an'  the  lights 
were  goin'  lower  and  dharker.  Thin  there  was  a  blaze  like 
lightnin'  from  the  roof,  an'  that  showed  me  the  inside  av  the 
palanquin,  an'  at  the  end  where  my  foot  was  stood  the  livin' 
spit  an'  image  o'  myself  worked  on  the  linin'.  This  man 
here,  it  was." 


1 40        INCARNA  TION  OF  KHRISNA  M UL  VANE  V. 

He  hunted  in  the  folds  of  his  pink  cloak,  ran  a  hand  un- 
der one,  and  thrust  into  the  fire-light  a  foot-long  embroidered 
presentment  of  the  great  god  Krishna,  playing  on  a  flute. 
The  heavy  jowl,  the  staring  eye,  and  the  blue-black  mus- 
tache of  the  god  made  up  a  far-off  resemblance  to  Mulvaney. 

"  The  blaze  was  gone  in  a  wink,  but  the  whole  schame 
came  to  me  thin.  I  beUeve  I  was  mad,  too.  I  slid  the  off- 
shutter  open  an'  rowled  out  mto  the  dhark  behind  the  ele- 
phint-head  pillar,  tucked  up  my  trowsies  to  my  knee,  sHpped 
off  my  boots,  and  took  a  general  hould  av  all  the  pink  linin'  av 
the  palanquin.  Glory  be,  ut  ripped  out  like  a  woman's  driss 
when  you  thread  on  ut  at  a  sargents'  ball,  an'  a  bottle  came 
with  ut.  I  tuk  the  bottle,  an'  the  next  minut  I  was  out  av 
the  dhark  av  the  pillar,  the  pink  linin'  wrapped  round  me 
most  graceful,  the  music  thunderin'  like  kettle-drums,  an'  a 
could  draft  blowin'  round  my  bare  legs.  By  this  hand  that 
did  ut,  I  was  Krishna  tootlin'  on  the  flute — the  god  that  the 
rig'mental  chaplain  talks  about.  A  sweet  sight  I  must  ha' 
looked.  I  knew  my  eyes  were  big  and  my  face  was  wax- 
white,  an'  at  the  worst  I  must  ha'  looked  like  a  ghost.  But 
they  took  me  for  the  livin'  god.  The  music  stopped,  and 
the  women  were  dead  dumb,  an'  I  crooked  my  legs  like  a 
shepherd  on  a  china  basin,  an'  I  did  the  ghost-waggle  with 
my  feet  as  I  had  done  at  the  rig'mental  theatre  many  times, 
an'  I  slid  across  the  temple  in  front  av  the  she-god,  tootlin'  on 
the  beer  bottle." 

"Wot  did  you  toot?"  demanded  Ortheris. 

"  Me?  Oh!  "  Mulvaney  sprang  up,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word,  and  sliding  gravely  in  front  of  us,  a  dilapidated 
deity  in  the  half  light.     "  I  sang — 

**  '  Only  say 

You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan. 

Don't  say  nay, 

Charmin'  Juley  Callaghan.' 


INCARNATION  OF  KHRI SNA  MULVANEY.         141 

I  didn't  know  me  own  voice  when  I  sang.  An'  oh!  'twas 
pitiful  to  see  the  women.  The  dadin's  were  down  on  their 
faces.  Whin  I  passed  the  last  wan  I  could  see  her  poor 
little  fingers  workin'  one  in  another  as  if  she  wanted  to  touch 
my  feet.  So  I  threw  the  tail  of  this  pink  overcoat  over  her 
head  for  the  greater  honor  an'  slid  into  the  dhark  on  the 
other  side  of  the  temple,  and  fetched  up  in  the  arms  av  a 
big  fat  priest.  All  I  wanted  was  to  get  away  clear.  So  I 
tuk  him  by  his  greasy  throat  an'  shut  the  speech  out  av  him. 
*  Out ! '  sez  I.  '  Which  way,  ye  fat  heathen?  '  '  Oh ! '  sez  he. 
*Man,'  sez  I.  'White  man,  soldier  man,  common  soldier 
man.  Where  is  the  back  door?'  'This  way,'  sez  my  fat 
friend,  duckin'  behind  a  big  bull-god  an'  divin'  into  a  pas- 
sage. Thin  I  remimbered  that  I  must  ha'  made  the  mir- 
aculous reputation  of  that  temple  for  the  next  fifty  years. 
'Not  so  fast,'  I  sez,  an'  I  held  out  both  my  hands  wid  a 
wink.  That  ould  thief  smiled  like  a  father.  I  took  him  by 
the  back  av  the  neck  in  case  he  should  be  wishful  to  put  a 
knife  into  me  unbeknownst,  an'  I  ran  him  up  an'  down  the 
passage  twice  to  collect  his  sensibilities.  'Be  quiet,'  sez 
he,  in  English!  'Now  you  talk  sense,'  I  sez.  '  Fwhat'll 
you  give  me  for  the  use  of  that  most  iligant  palanquin 
I  have  no  time  to  take  away?  '  '  Don't  tell,'  sez  he.  '  Is  ut 
like?  '  sez  I.  '  But  ye  might  give  me  my  railway  fare.  I'm 
far  from  my  home  an'  I've  done  you  a  service.'  Bhoys,  'tis 
a  good  thing  to  be  a  priest.  The  ould  man  niver  throubled 
himself  to  draw  from  a  bank.  As  I  will  prove  to  you  sub- 
sequint,  he  philandered  all  round  the  slack  av  his  clothes  and 
began  dribl)lin'  ten-rupee  notes,  old  gold  mohurs,  and  rupees 
into  my  hand  till  I  could  hould  no  more." 

"You  lie!"  said  Ortheris.  "You're  mad  or  sunstrook. 
A  native  don't  give  coin  unless  you  cut  it  out  av  'im.  '  Tain't 
nature." 

"Then  my  lie  an'  my  sunstroke  is  concealed  under  that 


1 42         INCARNA  TION  OF  KRISHNA  M  UL  VANE  Y. 

lump  av  sod  yonder,"  retorted  Mulvaney,  unruffled,  nodding 
across  the  scrub.  "  An'  there's  a  dale  more  in  nature  than 
your  squidgy  Httle  legs  have  iver  taken  you  to,  Orth'ris,  me 
son.  Four  hundred  and  thirty-four  rupees  by  my  reckonin', 
a?t'  a  big  fat  gold  necklace  that  I  took  from  him  as  a  remim- 
brancer." 

"An'  'e  give  it  to  you  for  love?  "  said  Ortheris. 

"  We  were  alone  in  that  passage.  Maybe  I  was  a  trifle 
too  pressin',  but  considher  fwat  I  had  done  for  the  good 
av  the  temple  and  the  iverlastin'  joy  av  those  women.  'Twas 
cheap  at  the  price.  I  would  ha'  taken  more  if  I  could  ha' 
found  ut.  I  turned  the  ould  man  upside  down  at  the  last, 
but  he  was  milked  dhry.  Thin  he  opened  a  door  in  an- 
other passage  an'  I  found  myself  up  to  my  knees  in  Benares 
river-water,  an'  bad  smellin'  ut  is.  More  by  token  I  had 
come  out  on  the  river  line  close  to  the  burnin'  ghat  and  con- 
tagious to  a  cracklin'  corpse.  This  was  in  the  heart  av  the 
night,  for  I  had  been  four  hours  in  the  temple.  There  was 
a  crowd  av  boats  tied  up,  so  I  tuk  wan  an'  wint  across  the 
river.     Thin  I  came  home,  lyin'  up  by  day." 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  manage?  "  I  said. 

"  How  did  Sir  Frederick  Roberts  get  from  Cabul  to 
Candahar?  He  marched,  an'  he  niver  told  how  near  he 
was  to  breakin'  down.  That's  why  he  is  pwhat  he  is.  An' 
now  " — Mulvaney  yawned  portentously — "  now  I  will  go  and 
give  myself  up  for  absince  widout  leave.  Its  eight-an'- 
twenty  days  an'  the  rough  end  of  the  colonel's  tongue  in 
orderly  room,  any  way  you  look  at  ut.  But  'tis  cheap  at  the 
price." 

"  Mulvaney,"  said  I,  softly,  "  if  there  happens  to  be  any 
sort  of  excuse  that  the  colonel  can  in  any  way  accept,  I 
have  a  notion  that  you'll  get  nothing  more  than  the  dressing 
down.     The  new  recruits  are  in,  and " 

"  Not  a  word  more,   sorr.     Is  ut   excuses   the  ould  man 


IXCARNA  TION  OF  A'A'/S//XA  MUL  VAXE  V.  1 43 

wants?     'Tis  not  my  way,  but  he  shall  have  thiin."     And  he 
flapped  his  way  to  cantonments,  sinj^ing  lustily: 

'  '  So  they  sent  a  corp'ril's  file, 

And  they  put  me  in  the  guyard-room 
For  conduck  unbecomin'  of  a  soldier." 

Therewith  he  surrendered  himself  to  the  joyful  and  almost 
weeping  guard,  and  was  made  much  of  by  his  fellows.  But 
to  the  colonel  he  said  that  he  had  been  smitten  with  sun- 
stroke and  had  lain  insensible  on  a  villager's  cot  for  untold 
hours,  and  between  laughter  and  good-will  the  affair  was 
smoothed  over,  so  that  he  could  next  day  teach  the  new  re- 
cruits how  to  "  fear  God,  honor  the  queen,  shoot  straight, 
and  keep  clean." 


THE 

COURTING  OF  DINAH   SHADD. 


lO 


THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD. 


I. 

All  day  I  had  followed  at  the  heels  of  a  pursuing  army, 
engaged  on  one  of  the  finest  battles  that  ever  camp  of  exer- 
cise beheld.  Thirty  thousand  troops  had  by  the  wisdom  of 
the  government  of  India  been  turned  loose  over  a  few  thou- 
sand square  miles  of  country  to  practise  in  peace  what  they 
would  never  attempt  in  war.  The  Army  of  the  South  had 
finally  pierced  the  centre  of  the  Army  of  the  North,  and  was 
pouring  through  the  gap,  hot  foot,  to  capture  a  city  of  strategic 
importance.  Its  front  extended  fanwise,  the  sticks  being  re- 
presented by  regiments  strung  out  along  the  line  of  route 
backward  to  the  divisional  transport  columns,  and  all  the 
lumber  that  trails  behind  an  army  on  the  move.  On  its 
right  the  broken  left  of  the  Army  of  the  North  was  flying 
in  mass,  chased  by  the  Southern  horse  and  hammered  by 
the  Southern  guns,  till  these  had  been  pushed  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  their  last  support.  Then  the  flying  Army  of  the 
North  sat  down  to  rest,  while  the  commandant  of  the  pursuing 
force  telegraphed  that  he  held  it  in  check  and  observation. 

Unluckily  he  did  not  observe  that  three  miles  to  his  right 
Hank  a  flying  column  of  Northern  horse,  with  a  detachment 
of  Gliuorkhas  and  British  troops,  had  been  pushed  round,  as 
fast  as  the  falling  light  allowed,  to  cut  across  the  entire  rear 
of  the  Southern  Army,  to  l)rcak,  as  it  were,  all  the  ribs  of  the 
fan  where  they  converged,   by  striking  at  the  transport  re- 


14S  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

serve,  ammunition,  and  artillery  supplies.  Their  instructions 
were  to  go  in,  avoiding  the  few  scouts  who  might  not  have 
been  drawn  off  by  the  pursuit,  and  create  sufficient  excite- 
ment to  impress  the  Southern  Army  with  the  wisdom  of 
guarding  their  own  flank  and  rear  before  they  captured  cities. 
It  was  a  pretty  manoeuvre,  neatly  carried  out. 

Speaking  for  the  second  division  of  the  Southern  Army, 
our  first  intimation  of  it  was  at  twilight,  when  the  artillery 
were  laboring  in  deep  sand,  most  of  the  escort  were  trying  to 
help  them  out,  and  the  main  body  of  the  infantry  had  gone 
on.  A  Noah's  ark  of  elephants,  camels,  and  the  mixed  me- 
nagerie of  an  Indian  transport  train  bubbled  and  squealed  be- 
hind the  guns,  when  there  rose  up  from  nowhere  in  partic- 
ular British  infantry  to  the  extent  of  three  companies,  who 
sprang  to  the  heads  of  the  gun  horses,  and  brought  all  to  a 
stand-still  amid  oaths  and  cheers. 

"How's  that,  umpire?"  said  the  major  commanding  the 
attack,  and  with  one  voice  the  drivers  and  limber  gunners 
answered,  "Hout!  "  while  the  colonel  of  artillery  sputtered. 

"All  your  scouts  are  charging  our  main  body,"  said  the 
major.  "  Your  flanks  are  unprotected  for  two  miles.  I  think 
we've  broken  the  back  of  this  division.  And  listen!  there 
go  the  Ghoorkhas!  " 

A  weak  fire  broke  from  the  rear-guard  more  than  a  mile 
away,  and  was  answered  by  cheerful  bowlings.  The  Ghoor- 
khas, who  should  have  swung  clear  of  the  second  division,  had 
stepped  on  its  tail  in  the  dark,  but,  drawing  off,  hastened  to 
reach  the  next  line,  which  lay  almost  parallel  to  us,  five  or 
six  miles  away. 

Our  column  swayed  and  surged  irresolutely — three  batte- 
ries, the  divisional  ammunition  reserve,  the  baggage,  and  a 
section  of  hospital  and  bearer  corps.  The  commandant  rue- 
fully promised  to  report  himself  "  cut  up  "  to  the  nearest  um- 
pire; and   commending  his  cavalry  and   all  other  cavalry  to 


THE    COURTIXG   OF  DIXAH  SHADD.  149 

the  care  of  Eblis,  toiled  on  to  resume  touch  with  the  rest  of 
the  division. 

"  Well  bivouac  here  to-night,"  said  the  major.  "  I  have  a 
notion  that  the  Ghoorkhas  will  get  caught.  They  may  want 
us  to  reform  on.     Stand  easy  till  the  transport  gets  away." 

A  hand  caught  my  beast's  bridle  and  led  him  out  of  the 
choking  dust;  a  larger  hand  deftly  canted  me  out  of  the  sad- 
dle, and  two  of  the  hugest  hands  in  the  world  received  me 
sliding.  Pleasant  is  the  lot  of  the  special  correspondent 
who  falls  into  such  hands  as  those  of  Privates  Mulvaney, 
Ortheris,  and  Learoyd. 

"An'  that's  all  right,"  said  the  Irishman  calmly.  "We 
thought  we'd  find  you  somewheres  here  by.  Is  there  anything 
of  yours  in  the  transport?     OrthVis'U  fetch  ut  out." 

Ortheris  did  "  fetch  ut  out  "  from  under  the  trunk  of  an  ele- 
phant, in  the  shape  of  a  servant  and  an  animal,  both  laden 
with  medical  comforts.     The  little  man's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  If  the  brutil  an'  licentious  soldiery  av  these  parts  gets 
sight  av  the  thruck,''  said  Mulvaney,  making  practised  in- 
vestigation, "they'll  loot  ev'rything.  They're  bem'  fed  on 
iron-filin's  an'  dog  biscuit  these  days,  but  glory's  no  compen- 
sation for  a  bellyache.  Praise  be,  we're  here  to  protect  you, 
sorr.  Beer,  sausage,  bread  (soft,  an'  that's  a  cur'osity),  soup 
in  a  tin;  whiskey  by  the  smell  av  ut,  an'  fowls.  Mother  av 
Moses,  but  ye  take  the  field  like  a  confectioner!  Tis  scan- 
d'lus." 

"'Ere's  a  orficer,"  said  Ortheris  significantly.  "AVhen  the 
sergent's  done  lushin',  the  privit  may  clean  the  pot." 

I  bundled  several  things  into  Mulvaney's  haversack  before 
the  major's  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder,  and  he  said,  tenderly, 
"  Requisitioned  for  the  queen's  service.  Wolseley  was  quite 
wrong  about  special  correspondents.  They  are  the  best 
friends  of  the  soldier.  Come  an'  take  pot-luck  with  us  to- 
night." 


150  THE    COURTING   OF  DIXAH  SHADD. 

And  so  it  happened  amid  laughter  and  shoutings  that  my 
well-considered  commissariat  melted  away  to  reappear  on 
the  mess-table,  which  was  a  waterproof  sheet  spread  on  the 
ground.  The  flying  column  had  taken  three  days'  rations 
with  it,  and  there  be  few  things  nastier  than  government  ra- 
tions— especially  when  government  is  experimenting  with 
German  toys.  Erbswurst,  tinned  beef,  of  surpassing  tinni- 
ness,  compressed  vegetables,  and  meat  biscuits  may  be  nour- 
ishing, but  what  Thomas  Atkins  wants  is  bulk  in  his  inside. 
The  major,  assisted  by  his  brother  officers,  purchased  goats 
for  the  camp,  and  so  made  the  experiment  of  no  effect. 
Long  before  the  fatigue-party  sent  to  collect  brushwood  had 
returned,  the  men  were  settled  down  by  their  valises,  kettles 
and  pots  had  appeared  from  the  surrounding  country,  and 
were  dangling  over  fires  as  the  kid  and  the  compressed  veg- 
etables bubbled  together;  there  rose  a  cheerful  clinking  of 
mess  tins,  outrageous  demands  for  a  "  little  more  stuffin' 
with  that  there  liver  wing,"  and  gust  on  gust  of  chaff  as 
pointed  as  a  bayonet  and  as  delicate  as  a  gun  butt. 

"  The  boys  are  in  a  good  temper,"  said  the  major.  "  They'll 
be  singing  presently.  Well,  a  night  like  this  is  enough  to 
keep  them  happy." 

Over  our  heads  burned  the  wonderful  Indian  stars,  which 
are  not  all  pricked  in  on  one  plane,  but  preserving  an  or- 
derly perspective,  draw  the  eye  through  the  velvet  darkness 
of  the  void  up  to  the  barred  doors  of  heaven  itself.  The 
earth  was  a  gray  shadow  more  unreal  than  the  sky.  We  could 
hear  her  breathing  lightly  in  the  pauses  between  the  howling 
of  the  jackals,  the  movement  of  the  wind  in  the  tamarisks, 
and  the  fitful  mutter  of  musketry  fire  leagues  away  to  the  left. 
A  native  woman  in  some  unseen  hut  began  to  sing,  the  mail 
train  thundered  past  on  its  way  to  Delhi,  and  a  roosting  crow 
cawed  drowsily.  Then  there  was  a  belt-loosening  silence 
about  the  fires,  and  the  even  breathing  of  the  crowded  earth 
took  up  the  story. 


THE   COURTIXG   OF  DIXAH   SHADD.  15 1 

The  men,  full  fed,  turned  to  tobacco  and  song — their  offi- 
cers with  them.  Happy  is  the  subaUern  who  can  win  the 
approval  of  the  musical  critics  in  his  regiment,  and  is  hon- 
ored among  the  more  intricate  step  dancers.  By  him,  as  by 
him  who  plays  cricket  craftily,  will  Thomas  Atkins  stand  in 
time  of  need  when  he  will  let  a  better  officer  go  on  alone. 
The  ruined  tombs  of  forgotten  Mussulman  saints  heard  the 
ballad  of  "Agra  Town,"  "The  Buffalo  Battery,"  "Marching 
to'Kabul,""The  long,  long  Indian  Day,"  "The  Place  where 
the  Punka  Coolie  Died,"  and  that  crashing  chorus  which  an- 
nounces 

"  Youth's  daring  spirit,  manhood's  fire, 
Firm  hand,  and  eagle  eye 
Must  he  acquire  who  would  aspire 
To  see  the  gray  boar  die." 

To-day,  of  all  those  jovial  thieves  who  appropriated  my 
commissariat,  and  lay  and  laughed  round  that  water-proof 
sheet,  not  one  remains.  They  went  to  camps  that  were  not 
of  exercise  and  battles  without  umpires.  Burmah,  the  Sou- 
dan, and  the  frontier  fever  and  fight  took  them  in  their  time. 

I  drifted  across  to  the  men's  fires  in  search  of  Mulvaney, 
whom  I  found  greasing  his  feet  by  the  blaze.  There  is  noth- 
ing particularly  lovely  in  the  sight  of  a  private  thus  engaged 
after  a  long  day's  march,  but  when  you  reflect  on  the  exact 
proportion  of  the  "might,  majesty,  dominion,  and  power" 
of  the  British  Emnire  that  stands  on  those  feet,  you  take  an 
interest  in  the  proceedings. 

"  There's  a  blister — bad  luck  to  ut! — on  the  heel,"  said 
Mulvaney.     "  I  can't  touch  ut.      Prick  ut  out,  little  man." 

Ortheris  produced  his  housewife,  eased  the  trouble  with  a 
needle,  stabbed  Mulvaney  in  the  calf  with  the  same  weapon, 
and  was  incontinently  kicked  into  the  fire. 

"  I've  bruk  the  best  av  my  toes  over  you,  ye  grinnin'  child 


152  THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

av  disruption!"  said  Mulvaney,  sitting  cross-legged  and 
nursing  his  feet;  then,  seeing  me:  "Oh,  ut's  you,  sorr!  Be 
welkim,  an'  take  that  maraudin'  scutt's  place.  Jock,  hold 
him  down  on  the  cindhers  for  a  bit." 

But  Ortheris  escaped  and  went  elsewhere  as  I  took  posses- 
sion of  the  hollow  he  had  scraped  for  himself  and  lined  with 
his  great-coat.  Learoyd,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  grinned 
affably,  and  in  a  minute  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  There's  the  height  av  poHteness  for  you,"  said  Mulvaney, 
lighting  his  pipe  with  a  flaming  branch,  "But  Jock's  eaten 
half  a  box  av  your  sardines  at  wan  gulp,  an'  I  think  the  tm 
too.  What's  the  bestwid  you,  sorr;  an'  how  did  you  happen 
to  be  on  the  losin'  side  this  day  when  we  captured  you?" 

"  The  Army  of  the  South  is  winning  all  along  the  line,"  I 
said. 

"  Thin  that  line's  the  hangman's  rope,  savin'  your  presence. 
You'll  learn  to-morrow  how  we  retreated  to  dhraw  thim  on 
before  we  made  thim  trouble,  an'  that's  what  a  woman  does. 
By  the  same  token,  we'll  be  attacked  before  the  dawnin',  an' 
ut  would  be  betther  not  to  slip  your  boots.  How  do  I  know 
that?  By  the  light  av  pure  reason.  Here  are  three  com- 
panies av  us  ever  so  far  inside  av  the  enemy's  flank,  an'  a 
crowd  av  roarin',  t'arin',  an'  squealin'  cavalry  gone  on  just  to 
turn  out  the  whole  nest  av  thim.  Av  course  the  enemy  will 
pursue  by  brigades  like  as  not,  an'  then  we'll  have  to  run 
for  ut.  Mark  my  words.  I  am  av  the  opinion  av  Polonius 
whin  he  said,  *  Don't  fight  wid  ivry  scutt  for  the  pure  joy  av 
fightin' ;  but  if  you  do,  knock  the  nose  av  him  first  an'  fre- 
quint !  '  We  ought  to  ha'  gone  on  an'  helped  the  Ghoor- 
khas." 

"But  what  do  you  know  about  Polonius?"  I  demanded. 
This  was  a  new  side  of  Mulvaney's  character. 

"  All  that  Shakespeare  ever  wrote,  an'  a  dale  more  that 
the  gallery  shouted,"  said  the  man  of  war,  carefully  lacing 


THE   COURTIXG   OF  DINAH  SHADD.  153 

his  boots.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  av  Silver's  Theatre  in  Dub- 
lin whin  I  was  younger  than  I  am  now  an'  a  patron  av  the 
drama?  Ould  Silver  wud  never  pay  actor,  man  or  woman, 
their  just  dues,  an'  by  consequence  his  comp'nies  was  collap- 
sible at  the  last  minut'.  Then  the  bhoys  would  clamor  to 
take  a  part,  an'  oft  as  not  ould  Silver  made  thim  pay  for  the 
fun.  Faith,  I've  seen  Hamlut  played  wid  a  new  black  eye, 
an'  the  Queen  as  full  as  a  cornucopia.  I  remember  wanst 
Hogin,  that  'listed  in  the  Black  Tyrone  an'  was  shot  in  South 
Africa,  he  sejuced  ould  Silver  into  givin'  him  Hamlut's  part 
instid  av  me,  that  had  a  fine  fancy  for  rhetoric  in  those  days. 
Av  course  I  wint  into  the  gallery  an'  began  to  fill  the  pit 
wid  other  people's  hats,  an'  I  passed  the  time  av  day  to 
Hogin  walkin'  through  Denmark  like  a  hamstrung  mule  wid 
a  pall  on  his  back.  '  Hamlut,'  sez  I,  '  there's  a  hole  in  your 
heel.  Pull  up  your  shtockin's,  Hamlut,'  sez  I.  *  Hamlut, 
Hamlut,  for  the  love  av  decincy  dhrop  that  skull,  an'  pull 
up  your  shtockin's.'  The  whole  house  begun  to  tell  him  that. 
He  stopped  his  scliloquishms  mid  between.  *  My  shtockin's 
may  be  comin'  down  or  they  may  not,'  sez  he,  screwin'  his 
eye  into  the  gallery,  for  well  he  knew  who  I  was ;  *  but  afther 
the  performince  is  over,  me  an'  the  Ghost'll  trample  the 
guts  out  av  you,  Terence,  wid  your  ass'  bray.'  An'  that's 
how  I  come  to  know  about  Hamlut.  Eyah!  Those  days, 
those  days!  Did  you  iver  have  onendin'  develmint  an' 
nothin'  to  pay  for  it  in  your  life,  sorr?  " 

"  Never  without  having  to  pay,"  I  said. 

"That's  thrue.  'Tis  mane,  whin  you  considher  on  ut; 
but  ut's  the  same  wid  horse  or  fut.  A  headache  if  you 
dhrink,  an'  a  bellyache  if  you  eat  too  much,  an'  a  heartache 
to  kape  all  down.  Faith,  the  beast  only  gets  the  colic,  an' 
he's  the  lucky  man." 

He  dropped  his  head  and  stared  into  the  fire,  fingering  his 
mustache  the  while.     From  the  far  side  of  the  bivouac  the 


T54  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

voice  of  Corbet-Nolan,  senior  subaltern  of  B  Company,  up- 
lifted  itself  in  an  ancient  and  much-appreciated  song  of  sen- 
timent,  the  men  moaning  melodiously  behind  him : 

"  The  north  wind  blew  coldly,  she  drooped  from  that  hour. 
My  own  little  Kathleen,  my  sweet  little  Kathleen, 
Kathleen,  my  Kathleen,  Kathleen  O'Moore  !" 

with  forty-five  ^V  in  the  last  word.  Even  at  that  distance 
you  might  have  cut  the  soft  South  Irish  accent  with  a  shovel. 

"For  all  we  take  we  must  pay;  but  the  price  is  cruel 
high,"  murmured  Mulvaney  when  the  chorus  had  ceased. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  I  said  gently,  for  I  knew  that  he 
was  a  man  of  an  inextinguishable  sorrow. 

"  Hear  now,"  said  he.  "  Ye  know  what  I  am  now.  I 
know  what  I  mint  to  be  at  the  beginnin'  av  my  service.  I've 
tould  you  time  an'  again,  an'  what  I  have  not,  Dinah  Shadd 
has.  An'  what  am  I?  Oh,  Mary  Mother  av  Hiven!  an 
ould  dhrunken,  untrustable  baste  av  a  privit  that  has  seen  the 
regiment  change  out  from  colonel  to  drummer-boy,  not  wanst 
or  twicet,  but  scores  av  times!  Ay,  scores!  An'  me  not  so 
near  gettin'  promotion  as  in  the  furst.  An'  me  livin'  on  an' 
kapin'  clear  o'  Clink  not  by  my  own  good  conduck,  but  the 
kindness  av  some  orf'cer — bhoy  young  enough  to  be  son  to 
me!  Do  I  not  know  ut?  Can  I  not  tell  whin  I'm  passed 
over  at  p'rade,  tho'  I'm  rockin'  full  av  liquor  an'  ready  to 
fall  all  in  wan  piece,  such  as  even  a  suckin'  child  might  see, 
bekaze,  *  Oh,  'tis  only  ould  Mulvaney!  '  An'  whin  I'm  let 
off  in  the  ord'ly  room,  though  some  thrick  av  the  tongue  an' 
a  ready  answer  an'  the  ould  man's  mercy,  is  ut  smilin'  I  feel 
whin  I  fall  away  an'  go  back  to  Dinah  Shadd,  thryin'  to 
carry  ut  all  off  as  a  joke?  Not  I.  'Tis  hell  to  me — dumb 
hell  through  ut  all;  an'  next  time  whin  the  fit  comes  I  will 
be  as  bad  again.  Good  cause  the  reg'ment  has  to  know  me 
for  the  best  soldier  in  ut.     Better  cause  have  I  to  know  me- 


THE    COURTING   OF  DIXAH  SI/ADD.  155 

eilf  for  the  worst  man.  I'm  only  fit  to  tache  the  new  drafts 
what  I'll  never  learn  myself;  an'  I  am  sure  as  tho'  I  heard 
lit,  that  the  minut  wan  av  these  pink-eyed  recruities  gets 
away  from  my  *  Mind  ye,  now,'  an'  '  Listen  to  this,  Jim,  bhoy,' 
sure  I  am  that  the  sergint  houlds  me  up  to  him  for  a  warnin'. 
So  I  tache,  as  they  say  at  musketry  instruction,  by  direct 
an'  ricochet  fire.  Lord  be  good  to  me!  for  I  have  stud  some 
trouble." 

"  Lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,"  said  I,  not  being  able  to 
comfort  or  advise.  "  You're  the  best  man  in  the  regiment, 
and,  next  to  Ortheris,  the  biggest  fool.  Lie  down,  and  wait 
till  we're  attacked.  What  force  will  they  turn  out?  Guns, 
think  you?" 

"Thry  that  wid  your  lorrds  an'  ladies,  twistin'  an'  turnin' 
the  talk,  tho'  you  mint  ut  well.  Ye  cud  say  nothin'  to  help 
me;  an'  yet  ye  never  knew  what  cause  I  had  to  be  what  I 
am." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  on  to  the  end,"  I  said 
royally.  "  But  rake  up  the  fire  a  bit  first."  I  passed  Or- 
theris' bayonet  for  a  poker. 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  know  what  to  do,"  said  Mul- 
vaney,  putting  it  aside.  "  Fire  takes  all  the  heart  out  av  the 
steel,  an'  the  next  time,  maybe,  that  our  little  man  is  fightin' 
for  his  life  his  brad-awl'll  break,  an'  so  you'll  'ave  killed  him, 
manin'  no  more  than  to  kape  yourself  warm.  'Tis  a  re- 
cruitie's  thrick  that.     Pass  the  cl'anin'-rod,  sorr." 

I  snuggled  down,  abashed,  and  after  an  interval  the  low, 
even  voice  of  Mulvaney  began. 

II. 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  Dinah  Shadd  came  to  be  wife 
av  mine?  " 

I  dissembled  a  burning  anxiety  that  I  had  felt  for  some 
months — ever  since  Dinah  Shadd,  the  strong,  the    patient, 


156  THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

and  the  infinitely  tender,  had,  of  her  own  good  love  and  free- 
will,  washed  a  shirt  for  me,  moving  in  a  barren  land  where 
washing  was  not. 

"  I  can't  remember,^'  I  said  casually.  "  Was  it  before  or 
after  you  made  love  to  Annie  Bragin,  and  got  no  satisfac- 
tion?" 

The  story  of  Annie  Bragin  is  written  in  another  place.  It 
is  one  of  the  many  episodes  in  Mulvaney's  checkered  career. 

"  Before — before — long  before  was  that  business  av  Annie 
Bragin  an^  the  corp'ril's  ghost.  Never  woman  was  the  worse 
for  me  whin  I  had  married  Dinah.  There's  a  time  for  all 
things,  an'  I  know  how  to  kape  all  things  in  place — barrin' 
the  dhrink,  that  kapes  me  in  my  place,  wid  no  hope  av  com- 
in'  to  be  aught  else." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  insisted.  "  Mrs.  Mulvaney 
told  me  that  you  married  her  when  you  were  quartered  in 
Krab  Bokhar  barracks." 

"An'  the  same  is  a  cess-pit,"  said  Mulvaney  piously. 
"She  spoke  thrue,  did  Dinah.  'Twas  this  way.  Talkin'  av 
that,  have  ye  iver  fallen  in  love,  sorr?" 

I  preserved  the  silence  of  the  damned.  Mulvaney  con- 
tinued: 

"Thin  I  will  assume  that  ye  have  not.  /did.  In  the 
days  av  my  youth,  as  I  have  more  than  wanst  tould  you,  I 
was  a  man  that  filled  the  eye  an'  delighted  the  sowl  av 
women.  Niver  man  was  hated  as  I  have  been.  Niver  man 
was  loved  as  I — no,  not  within  half  a  day's  march  av  ut.  For 
the  first  five  years  av  my  service,  whin  I  was  what  I  wud 
give  my  sowl  to  be  now,  I  tuk  whatever  was  widin  my  reach 
an'  digested  ut,  an'  that's  more  than  most  men  can  say. 
Dhrink  I  tuk,  an'  ut  did  me  no  harm.  By  the  hollow  av 
hiven,  I  could  play  wid  four  women  at  wanst,  an'  kape  thim 
from  findin'  out  anything  about  the  other  three,  and  smile 
like  a  full-blown  marigold  through  ut  all.     Dick  Coulhan,  of 


THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD.  157 

the  battery  we'll  have  down  on  us  to-night,  could  dhrive  his 
team  no  better  than  I  mine ;  an'  I  hild  the  worser  cattle. 
An'  so  I  lived  an'  so  I  was  happy,  till  afther  that  business 
wid  Annie  Bragin — she  that  turned  me  off  as  cool  as  a  meat- 
safe,  an'  taught  me  where  I  stud  in  the  mind  av  an  honest 
woman.     'Twas  no  sweet  dose  to  take. 

"Afther  that  I  sickened  awhile,  an'  tuk  thought  to  my 
reg'mental  work,  conceiting  mesilf  I  wud  study  an'  be  a 
sargint.  an'  a  major-gineral  twinty  minutes  afther  that.  But 
on  top  o'  my  ambitiousness  there  was  an  empty  place  in  my 
sowl,  an'  me  own  opinion  av  mesilf  cud  not  fill  ut.  Sez  I  to 
mesilf:  '  Terence,  you're  a  great  man  an'  the  best  set  up  in 
the  reg'ment.  Go  on  an'  get  promotion.'  Sez  mesilf  to  me, 
'What  for?'  Sez  I  to  mesilf,  'For  the  glory  av  ut.'  Sez 
mesilf  to  me, '  Will  that  fill  these  two  strong  arrums  av  yours, 
Terence?'  'Go  to  the  devil,'  sez  I  to  mesilf.  'Go  to  the 
married  Hnes,'  sez  mesilf  to  me.  '  "Tis  the  same  thing,'  sez 
I  to  mesilf.  '  Av  you're  the  same  man,  ut  is,'  said  mesilf  to 
me.  An'  wid  that  I  considhered  on  ut  a  long  while.  Did 
you  iver  feel  that  way,  sorr?." 

I  snored  gently,  knowing  that  if  Mulvaney  wei^  uninter- 
rupted he  would  go  on.  The  clamor  from  the  bivouac  fires 
beat  up  to  the  stars  as  the  rival  singers  of  the  companies 
were  pitted  against  each  other. 

"So  I  felt  that  way,  an'  a  bad  time  ut  was.  Wanst,  bein' 
a  fool,  I  went  into  the  married  lines,  more  for  the  sake  av 
spakin'  to  our  ould  color-sergint  Shadd  than  for  any  thruck 
wid  wimmen-folk.  I  was  a  corp'ril  then — rejuced  afther- 
wards ;  but  a  corp'ril  then.  I've  got  a  photograft  av  mesilf 
to  prove  ut.  '  You'll  take  a  cup  av  tay  wid  us?  '  sez  he.  *I 
will  that,'  I  sez;  '  tho'  tay  is  not  my  divarsion.'  "Twud  be 
better  for  you  if  ut  were,'  sez  ould  Mother  Shadd.  An'  she 
had  ought  to  know,  for  Shadd,  in  the  ind  av  his  service, 
dhrank  bung-full  each  night. 


158  THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD, 

"Wid  that  I  tuk  off  my  gloves — there  was  pipe-clay  in 
thim  so  that  they  stud  alone — an'  pulled  up  my  chair,  look- 
in'  round  at  the  china  ornamints  an'  bits  av  things  in  the 
Shadds'  quarters.  They  were  things  that  belonged  to  a 
woman,  an'  no  camp  kit,  here  to-day  an'  dishipated  next. 

*  You're  comfortable  in  this  place,  sergint,'  sez  I.  '  'Tis  the 
wife  that  did  ut,  boy,'  sez  he,  pointin'  the  stem  av  his  pipe  to 
ould  Mother  Shadd,  an'  she  smacked  the  top  av  his  bald 
head  apon  the  compliment.  That  manes  you  want  money,^ 
sez  she. 

"  An'  thin — an'  thin  whin  the  kettle  was  to  be  filled, 
Dinah  came  in — my  Dinah — her  sleeves  rowled  up  to  the 
elbow,  an'  her  hair  in  a  gowlden  glory  over  her  forehead,  the 
big  blue  eyes  beneath  twinkHn'  like  stars  on  a  frosty  night, 
an'  the  tread  of  her  two  feet  lighter  than  waste  paper  from  the 
colonel's  basket  in  ord'ly  room  when  ut's  emptied.  Bein' 
but  a  shlip  av  a  girl,  she  went  pink  at  seein'  me,  an'  I 
twisted  me  mustache  an'  looked  at  a  picture  forninst  the 
wall.  Never  show  a  woman  that  ye  care  the  snap  av  a 
finger  for  her,  an'  begad  she'll  come  bleatin'  to  your  boot 
heels." 

"  I  suppose  that's  why  you  followed  Annie  Bragin  till 
everybody  in  the  married  quarters  laughed  at  you,"  said  I, 
remembering  that  unhallowed  wooing,  and  casting  off  the 
disguise  of  drowsiness. 

"  I'm  layin'  down  the  gineral  theory  av  the  attack,"  said 
Mulvaney,  driving  his  foot  into  the  dying  fire.  "  If  you  read 
the  *  Soldier's  Pocket-Book,'  which  never  any  soldier  reads, 
you'll  see  that  there  are  exceptions.  When  Dinah  was  out 
av  the  door  (an'  'twas  as  tho'  the  sunHght  had  gone  too), 

*  Mother  av  Hiven,  sergint!'  sez  I,  'but  is  that  you»* 
daughter?'  'I've  believed  that  way  these  eighteen  years,' 
sez  ould  Shadd,  his  eyes  twinklin'.  *  But  Mrs.  Shadd  has 
her  own  opinion^  like  ivry  other  woman.'    '  'Tis  wid  yours  this 


THE    COURTING   OF  DIXAH   SJIADD.'  159 

time,  for  a  mericle,'  sez  Mother  Shadd.  'Then  wliy,  in  tlie 
name  av  fortune,  did  I  never  see  her  before?'  sez  I. 
'Bekaze  you've  been  thraipsin '  round  wid  the  married 
women  these  three  years  past.  She  was  a  bit  av  a  child  till 
last  year,  an'  she  shot  up  wid  the  spring,'  sez  ould  Mother 
Shadd.  '  I'll  thraipse  no  more,'  sez  I.  *  D'you  mane  tliat?  ' 
sez  ould  Mother  Shadd,  lookin'  at  me  sideways,  like  a  hen 
looks  at  a  hawk  whin  the  chickens  are  runnin'  free.  '  Try 
me,  an'  tell,'  sez  I.  Wid  that  I  pulled  on  my  gloves,  dhrank 
off  the  tea,  an'  wint  out  av  the  house  as  stiff  as  at  gineral 
p'rade,  for  well  I  knew  that  Dinah  Shadd's  eyes  were  in  the 
small  av  my  back  out  av  the  scullery  window.  Faith,  that 
was  the  only  time  I  mourned  I  was  not  a  cav'lryman,  for  the 
sake  av  the  spurs  to  jingle.'" 

"  I  wint  out  to  think,  an'  I  did  a  powerful  lot  av  thinkin', 
but  ut  all  came  round  to  that  shlip  av  a  girl  in  the  dotted 
blue  dhress,  wid  the  blue  eyes  an'  the  sparkil  in  them.  Thin 
I  kept  off  canteen,  an'  I  kept  to  the  married  quarthers  or  near 
by  on  the  chanst  av  meetin'  Dinah.  Did  I  meet  her?  Oh, 
my  time  past,  did  I  not,  wid  a  lump  in  my  throat  as  big  as 
my  valise,  an'  my  heart  goin'  like  a  farrier's  forge  on  a  Satur- 
day mornin'!  'Twas  'Good-day  to  ye,  Miss  Dinah,'  an' 
'Good-day  t'you,  corp'ril,'  for  a  week  or  two,  an'  divil  a  bit 
further  could  I  get,  bekase  av  the  respict  I  hcd  to  that  girl 
that  I  cud  ha'  broken  betune  finger  an'  thumb." 

Here  I  giggled  as  I  recalled  the  gigantic  figure  of  Dinah 
Shadd  when  she  handed  me  my  shirt. 

"  Ye  may  laugh,"  grunted  Mulvaney.  "But  I'm  speakin' 
the  trut'  an'  'tis  you  that  are  in  fault.  Dinah  was  a  girl  that 
wud  ha'  taken  the  imperiousness  out  av  the  Duchess  av 
Clonmel  in  those  days.  Flower  hand,  foot  av  shod  air,  an' 
the  eyes  av  the  mornin'  she  had.  That  is  my  wife  to-day — 
ould  Dinah,  an'  never  aught  else  than  Dinah  Shadd  to  me. 

"'Twas  after  three  weeks  standin'  off  an'   on,  an'  niver 


i6o  THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH   SHADD. 

makin'  headway  excipt  through  the  eyes,  that  a  little  drum- 
mer-boy  grinned  in  me  face  whin  I  had  admonished  him  wid 
the  buckle  av  my  belt  for  riotin'  all  over  the  place.  *  An' 
I'm  not  the  only  wan  that  doesn't  kape  to  barricks,'  sez  he. 
I  tuk  him  by  the  scruff  av  his  neck — my  heart  was  hung  on 
a  hair-thrigger  those  days,  you  will  understand — an'  '  Out 
wid  ut,'  sez  I,  *  or  I'll  lave  no  bone  av  you  unbruk.'  '  Speak 
to  Dempsey,'  sez  he,  howlin'.  *  Dempsey  which?  '  sez  I,  'ye 
unwashed  limb  av  Satan.'  *  Of  the  Bobtailed  Dhragoons,' 
sez  he.  '  He's  seen  her  home  from  her  aunt's  house  in  the 
civil  lines  four  times  this  fortnight.'  '  Child,'  sez  I,  dhroppin' 
him,  '  your  tongue's  stronger  than  your  body.  Go  to  your 
quarters.     I'm  sorry  I  dhressed  you  down.' 

"At  that  I  went  four  ways  to  wanst  huntin'  Dempsey.  I 
was  mad  to  think  that  wid  all  my  airs  among  women  I  shud 
ha'  been  ch'ated  by  a  basin-faced  fool  av  a  cav'lryman  not 
fit  to  trust  on  a  mule  thrunk.  Presintly  I  found  him  in  our 
lines — the  Bobtails  was  quartered  next  us — an'  a  tallowy, 
top-heavy  son  av  a  she-mule  he  was,  wid  his  big  brass  spurs 
an'  his  plastrons  on  his  epigastons  an'  all.  But  he  niver 
flinched  a  hair. 

"*A  word  wid  you,  Dempsey,'  sez  I.  'You've  walked 
wid  Dinah  Shadd  four  times  this  fortnight  gone.' 

"  'What's  that  to  you?'  sez  he.  'I'll  walk  forty  times 
more,  an'  forty  on  top  av  that,  ye  shovel-futted,  clod- 
breakin'  infantry  lance-corp'ril.'  " 

"  Before  I  cud  gyard  he  had  his  gloved  fist  home  on  me 
cheek,  an'  down  I  went  full  sprawl.  '  Will  that  content 
you?'  sez  he,  blowin'  on  his  knuckles  for  all  the  world  like 
a  Scots  Grays  orf'cer.  'Content?'  sez  I.  'For  your  own 
sake,  man,  take  off  your  spurs,  peel  your  jackut,  and  onglove. 
'Tis  the  beginnin'  av  the  overture.     Stand  up!  ' 

"He  stud  all  he  knew,  but  he  niver  peeled  his  jackut,  an' 
his   shoulders  had  no  fair  play.     I   was  fightin'   for  Dinah 


THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SIIADD.  i6i 

Shadd  an'  that  cut  on  me  cheek.  What  hope  had  he  for- 
ninst  me?  'Stand  up!'  sez  l,time  an'  again,  when  he  was 
beginnin'  to  quarter  the  ground  an'  gyard  high  an'  go  large. 
'This  isn't  ridin'-school,'  sez  I.  *  Oh,  man,  stand  up,  an'  let 
me  get  at  ye! '  But  whin  I  saw  he  wud  be  runnin'  about,  I 
grup  his  shtock  in  me  left  an'  his  waist-belt  in  me  right  an' 
swung  him  clear  to  me  right  front,  head  undher,  he  ham- 
merin'  me  nose  till  the  wind  was  knocked  out  av  him  on  the 
bare  ground.  '  Stand  up,'  sez  I,  *  or  111  kick  your  head  into 
your  chest.'  An'  I  wud  ha'  done  ut,  too,  so  ragin'  mad  I 
was. 

"  '  Me  collar-bone's  bruk,'  sez  he,  *  Help  me  back  to 
lines.     I'll  walk  wid  her  no  more.'     So  I  helped  him  back." 

"  And  was  his  collar-bone  broken?  "  I  asked,  for  I  fancied 
that  only  Learoyd  could  neatly  accomplish  that  terrible 
throw. 

"  He  pitched  on  his  left  shoulder-point.  It  was.  Next 
day  the  news  was  in  both  barracks;  an'  whin  I  met  Dinah 
Shadd  wid  a  cheek  like  all  the  reg'mintal  tailors'  samples, 
there  was  no  '  Good-mornin',  corp'ril,'  or  aught  else.  'An' 
what  have  I  done.  Miss  Shadd,'  sez  I,  very  bould,  plantin' 
mesilf  forninst  her,  '  that  ye  should  not  pass  the  time  of  day?  ' 

'• '  Ye've  half  killed  rough-rider  Dempsey,'  sez  she,  her 
dear  blue  eyes  filHn'  up. 

"'Maybe,'  sez  I.  'Was  he  a  friend  av  yours  that  saw  ye 
home  four  times  in  a  fortnight? ' 

"'Yes,'  sez  she,  very  bould;  but  her  mouth  was  down  at 
the  corners.     '  An' — an'  what's  that  to  you?  ' 

"'Ask  Dempsey,'  sez  I,  purtendin'  to  go  away. 

"'Did  you  fight  for  me  then,  ye  silly  man?'  she  sez,  tho' 
she  knew  ut  all  along. 

"  '  Who  else? '  sez  I ;  an'  I  tuk  wan  pace  to  tlie  front. 

" '  I  wasn't  worth  ut,'  sez  she,  fingerin'  her  apron. 

"  '  That's  for  me  to  say,'  sez  I.     '  Shall  I  say  ut?  ' 


1 62  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

"'Yes,'  sez  she,  in  a  saint's  whisper;  an'  at  that  I  ex- 
plained mesilf;  an'  she  tould  me  what  ivry  man  that  is  a 
man,  an'  many  that  is  a  woman,  hears  wanst  in  his  Hfe. 

*'  *  But  what  made  ye  cry  at  startin',  Dinah  darHn'?  '  sez  I. 

"*Your — your  bloody  cheek,'  sez  she,  duckin'  her  little 
head  down  on  my  sash  (I  was  duty  for  the  day),  an'  whim- 
perin'  like  a  sorrowful  angel. 

"  Now  a  man  cud  take  that  two  ways.  I  tuk  ut  as  pleased 
me  best,  an'  my  first  kiss  wid  ut.  Mother  av  Innocence! 
but  I  kissed  her  on  the  tip  av  the  nose  an'  undher  the  eye, 
an'  a  girl  that  lets  a  kiss  come  tumbleways  like  that  has 
never  been  kissed  before.  Take  note  av  that,  sorr.  Thin 
we  wint,  hand  in  hand,  to  ould  Mother  Shadd  like  two  little 
childher,  an'  she  said  it  was  no  bad  thing;  an'  ould  Shadd 
nodded  behind  his  pipe,  an'  Dinah  ran  away  to  her  own 
room.  That  day  I  throd  on  rollin'  clouds  All  earth  was 
too  small  to  hould  me.  Begad,  I  cud  ha'  picked  the  sun  out 
av  the  sky  for  a  live  coal  to  me  pipe,  so  magnificent  I  was. 
But  I  tuk  recruities  at  squad  drill,  an'  began  with  general 
battalion  advance  whin  I  shud  ha'  been  balance-steppin'  'em. 
Eyah !  that  day !  that  day !  " 

A  very  long  pause.     "  Well?  "  said  I. 

"  It  was  all  wrong,''  said  Mulvaney,  with  an  enormous 
sigh.  "  An'  sure  I  know  that  ev'ry  bit  av  ut  was  me  own 
foolishness.  That  night  I  tuk  maybe  the  half  av  three  pints 
— not  enough  to  turn  the  hair  of  a  man  in  his  natural  sinses. 
But  I  was  more  than  half  dhrunk  wid  pure  joy,  an'  that  can- 
teen beer  was  so  much  whiskey  to  me.  I  can't  tell  how  ut 
came  about,  but  bekase  I  had  no  thought  for  any  wan  ex- 
cept Dinah,  bekase  I  hadn't  slipped  her  little  white  arms 
from  me  neck  five  minutes,  bekase  the  breath  av  her  kiss  was 
not  gone  from  my  mouth,  I  must  go  through  the  married 
lines  on  me  way  to  quarthers,  an'  I  must  stay  talkin'  to  a  red- 
headed Mullengar  heifer  av  a  girl,  Judy  Sheehy,  that  was 


THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SIIADD.  163 

daughter  to  Mother  Sheehy,  the  wife  av  Nick  Sheehy,  the 
canteen  sergint — the  black  curse  av  Shielygh  be  on  the  whole 
brood  that  are  above  groun'  this  day! 

"'An'  what  are  ye  houldin'  your  head  that  high  for, 
corp'ril?'  sez  Judy.  'Come  in  an'  thry  a  cup  av  tay,'  she 
sez,  standin'  in  the  doorway. 

"Bein'  an  onbustable  fool,  an'  thinkin'  av  anythin'  but 
tay,  I  wint. 

"  '  Mother's  at  canteen,'  sez  Judy,  smoothin'  the  hair  av 
hers  that  was  like  red  snakes,  an'  lookin'  at  me  cornerways 
out  av  her  green  cat's  eyes.     '  Ye  will  not  mind,  corp'ril?  ' 

" '  I  can  endure,'  sez  I.  '  Ould  Mother  Sheehy  bein'  no 
divarsion  av  mine,  nor  her  daughter  too.'  Judy  fetched  the 
tea-things  an'  put  thim  on  the  table,  leanin'  over  me  very 
close  to  get  them  square.     I  dhrew  back,  thinkin'  of  Dinah. 

" '  Is  ut  afraid  you  are  av  a  girl  alone?  '  sez  Judy. 

"  '  No;  sez  I.     '  Why  should  I  be?  ' 

" '  That  rests  wid  the  girl,'  sez  Judy,  dhrawin'  her  chair 
next  to  mine. 

"  *  Thin  there  let  ut  rest,'  sez  I ;  an'  thinkin'  I'd  been  a 
trifle  onpolite,  I  sez,  '  The  tay's  not  quite  sweet  enough  for 
me  taste.  Put  your  little  finger  in  the  cup,  Judy;  'twill 
make  ut  necthar.' 

*' '  What's  necthar?  '  sez  she. 

" '  Somethin'  very  sweet,'  sez  I ;  an'  for  the  sinful  life  av 
me  I  cud  not  help  lookin'  at  her  out  av  the  corner  av  my 
eye,  as  I  was  used  to  look  at  a  woman. 

"  '  Go  on  wid  ye,  corp'ril,'  sez  she.     *  Youtc  a  flirrt.' 

" '  On  me  sowl  I'm  not,'  sez  I. 

"  '  Then  you're  a  cruel  handsome  man,  an'  that's  worse,' 
sez  she,  heavin'  big  sighs  an'  lookin'  crossways. 

"  '  You  know  your  own  mind,'  sez  I. 

""Twud  be  better  for  me  if  I  did  not,'  she  sez. 

"  *  There's  a  dale  to  be  said  on  both  sides  av  that,'  sez  I, 
nuthinkin'. 


1 64  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

"  '  Say  your  own  part  av  ut,  then,  Terence  darlin','  sez 
she;  'for  begad  I'm  thinkin'  I've  said  too  much  or  too  little 
for  an  honest  girl; '  an'  wid  that  she  put  her  arms  round  me 
neck  an'  kissed  me. 

"'There's  no  more  to  be  said  afther  that,'  sez  I,  kissin' 
her  back  again.  Oh,  the  mane  scutt  that  I  was,  my  head 
ringin'  wid  Dinah  Shadd!  How  does  ut  come  about,  sorr, 
that  whin  a  man  has  put  the  comether  on  wan  woman  he's 
sure  bound  to  put  ut  on  another?  'Tis  the  same  thing  at 
musketry.  Wan  day  ev'ry  shot  goes  wide  or  into  the  bank, 
an'  the  next — lay  high,  lay  low,  sight  or  snap — ye  can't  get 
off  the  bull's-eye  for  ten  shots  runnin'." 

"  That  only  happens  to  a  man  who  has  had  a  good  deal  of 
experience;  he  does  it  without  thinking,"  I  replied. 

"Thankin'  you  for  the  complimint,  sorr,  ut  may  be  so; 
but  I'm  doubtin'  whether  you  mint  ut  for  a  complimint. 
Hear,  now.  I  sat  there  wid  Judy  on  my  knee,  tellin'  me  all 
manner  av  nonsinse,  an'  only  sayin'  'yes'  an'  'no,'  when  I'd 
much  better  ha'  kept  tongue  betune  teeth.  An'  that  was  not 
an  hour  afther  I  had  left  Dinah.  What  I  was  thinkin'  av  I 
cannot  say. 

"  Presently,  quiet  as  a  cat,  ould  Mother  Sheehy  came  in 
velvet-dhrunk.  She  had  her  daughter's  red  hair,  but  'twas 
bald  in  patches,  an'  I  cud  see  in  her  wicked  ould  face,  clear 
as  lightnin',  what  Judy  wud  be  twenty  year  to  come.  I  was 
for  jumpin'  up,  but  Judy  niver  moved. 

"  *  Terence  has  promust,  mother,'  sez  she,  an'  the  cowld 
sweat  bruk  out  all  over  me. 

*'  Ould  Mother  Sheehy  sat  down  of  a  heap,  an'  began  play- 
in'  wid  the  cups.  *  Thin  you're  a  well-matched  pair,'  she 
sez,  very  thick;  'for  he's  the  biggest  rogue  that  iver  spoiled 
the  queen's  shoe-leather,  an ' 

"  '  I'm  off,  Judy,'  sez  I.  '  Ye  should  not  talk  nonsinse  to 
your  mother.     Get  her  to  bed,  girl.' 


THE    COURTIXG   OF  DIXAH   SIIADD.  165 

"'Nonsinse?'  sez  the  ould  woman,  prickin'  up  her  ears 
]ike  a  cat,  an'  grippin'  the  table-edge.  "Twill  be  the  most 
nonsinsical  nonsinse  for  you,  ye  grinnin'  badger,  if  nonsinse 
'tis.     Git  clear,  you.     I'm  goin'  to  bed.' 

"  I  ran  out  into  the  dhark,  me  head  in  a  stew  an'  me  heart 
sick,  but  I  had  sinse  enough  to  see  that  I'd  brought  ut  all  on 
mesilf.  *It's  this  to  pass  the  time  av  day  to  a  panjandhrum 
of  hell-cats,'  sez  I.  '  What  I've  said  an'  what  I've  not  said 
do  not  matther.  Judy  an'  her  dam  will  hould  me  for  a  prom- 
ust  man,  an'  Dinah  will  give  me  the  go,  an'  I  desarve  ut. 
I  will  go  an'  get  dhrunk,'  sez  I,  '  an'  forgit  about  ut,  for  'tis 
plain  I'm  not  a  marryin'  man.' 

"  On  me  way  to  canteen  I  ran  against  Lascelles,  color- 
sergint  that  was,  av  E  Comp'ny — a  hard,  hard  man,  wid  a 
tormint  av  a  wife.  '  You've  the  head  av  a  drowned  man  on 
your  shoulders,'  sez  he,  '  an'  you're  goin'  where  you'll  get  a 
worse  wan.  Come  back,'  sez  he.  '  Let  me  go,'  sez  I.  '  I've 
thrown  me  luck  over  the  wall  wid  me  own  hand.'  *  Then 
that's  not  the  way  to  get  ut  back,'  sez  he.  '  Have  out  wid 
your  throuble,  ye  fool-bhoy.'  An'  I  tould  him  how  the  mat- 
ther was. 

"  He  sucked  in  his  lower  lip.  '  You've  been  thrapped,'  sez 
he.  'Ju  Sheehy  wud  be  the  betther  for  a  man's  name  to 
hers  as  soon  as  she  can.  An'  ye  thought  ye'd  put  the  com- 
ether  on  her.  That's  the  naturil  vanity  av  the  baste.  Ter- 
ence, you're  a  big  born  fool,  but  you're  not  bad  enough  to 
marry  into  that  comp'ny.  If  you  said  anythin',  an'  for  all 
your  protestations  I'm  sure  you  did — or  did  not,  which  is 
worse — eat  ut  all.  Lie  like  the  father  av  all  lies,  but  come 
out  av  ut  free  av  Judy.  Do  I  not  know  what  ut  is  to  marry 
a  woman  that  was  the  very  spit  av  Judy  when  she  was 
young?  I'm  gettin'  ould,  an'  I've  larnt  i)atience;  but  you, 
Terence,  you'd  raise  hand  on  Judy  an'  kill  her  in  a  year. 
Never  mind  if  Dinah  gives  you  the  go;  you've  desarved  ut. 


1 66  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

Never  mind  if  the  whole  reg'mint  laughs  at  you  all  day. 
Get  shut  av  Judy  an'  her  mother.  They  can't  dhrag  you  to 
church,  but  if  they  do,  they'll  dhrag  you  to  hell.  Go  back 
to  your  quarthers  an'  lie  down,'  sez  he.  Thin,  over  his 
shoulder,  'You  mtisfhdJ  done  with  thim.' 

"  Nixt  day  I  wint  to  see  Dinah;  but  there  was  no  tucker 
in  me  as  I  walked.  I  knew  the  throuble  wud  come  soon 
enough  widout  any  handlin'  av  mine,  an'  I  dreaded  ut  sore. 

"  I  heard  Judy  callin'  me,  but  I  hild  straight  on  to  the 
Shadd's  quarthers,  an'  Dinah  wud  ha'  kissed  me,  but  I  hild 
her  back. 

"  *  Whin  all's  said,  darlin','  sez  I,  *  you  can  give  ut  me  if 
you  will,  tho'  I  misdoubt  'twill  be  so  easy  to  come  by  thin.' 

*'  I  had  scarce  begun  to  put  the  explanation  into  shape  be- 
fore Judy  an'  her  mother  came  to  the  door.  I  think  there 
was  a  veranda,  but  I'm  forgettin'. 

"  *  AVill  ye  not  step  in?'  sez  Dinah,  pretty  and  polite, 
though  the  Shadds  had  no  dealin's  with  the  Sheehys.  Quid 
Mother  Shadd  looked  up  quick,  an'  she  was  the  fust  to  see 
the  throuble,  for  Dinah  was  her  daughter. 

" '  I'm  pressed  for  time  to-day,'  sez  Judy,  as  bould  as 
brass;  'an'  I've  only  come  for  Terence — my  promust  man. 
'Tis  strange  to  find  him  here  the  day  afther  the  day.' 

"  Dinah  looked  at  me  as  though  I  had  hit  her,  an'  I  an- 
swered straight. 

" '  There  was  some  nonsinse  last  night  at  the  Sheehys' 
quarthers,  an'  Judy's  carryin'  on  the  joke,  darlin','  sez  I. 

'"At  the  Sheehys'  quarthers?'  sez  Dinah,  very  slow;  an' 
Judy  cut  in  wid, 

" '  He  was  there  from  nine  till  tin,  Dinah  Shadd,  an'  the 
betther  half  av  that  time  I  was  sittin'  on  his  knee,  Dinah 
Shadd.  Ye  may  look  an'  ye  may  look  an'  ye  may  look  me 
up  an'  down,  but  ye  won't  look  away  that  Terence  is  my 
promust  man.  Terence,  darlin',  tis  time  for  us  to  be  comin' 
home.' 


THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD.  167 

"  Dinah  Shadd  never  said  word  to  Judy.  '  Ye  left  me  at 
half-past  eight,'  she  sez  to  me,  '  an'  I  never  thought  that  ye'd 
leave  me  for  Judy,  promises  or  no  promises.  Go  back  vvid 
her,  you  that  have  to  be  fetched  by  a  girl!  I'm  done  with 
you,'  sez  she;  and  she  ran  into  her  own  room,  her  motlier 
foUowin'.  So  I  was  alone  with  those  two  women,  and  at 
liberty  to  spake  me  sintiments. 

"'Judy  Sheehy,'  sez  I,  'if  you  made  a  fool  av  me  betune 
the  lights,  you  shall  not  do  ut  in  the  day.  I  never  promised 
you  words  or  lines.' 

(    "'You  lie,' sez  ould  Mother  Sheehy;  'an'  may  ut  choke 
you  where  you  stand! '     She  was  far  gone  in  dhrink. 

" '  An'  tho'  ut  choked  me  where  I  stud  I'd  not  change,' 
sez  I.  *  Go  home,  Judy.  I  take  shame  for  a  decent  girl  like 
you  dhraggin'  your  mother  out  bare-headed  on  this  errand. 
Hear,  now,  and  have  ut  for  an  answer.  I  gave  me  word  to 
Dinah  Shadd  yesterday,  an'  more  blame  to  me  I  was  with 
you  last  night  talkin'  nonsinse,  but  nothin'  more.  You've 
chosen  to  thry  to  hould  me  on  ut.  I  will  not  be  held  there- 
by for  any  thin'  in  the  world.     Is  that  enough?  ' 

"  Judy  wint  pink  all  over.  *  An'  I  wish  you  joy  av  the  per- 
jury,' sez  she.  '  You've  lost  a  woman  that  would  ha'  wore 
her  hand  to  the  bone  for  your  pleasure ;  an'  'deed,  Terence, 
ye  were  not  thrapped.  .  .  .  Lascelles  must  ha'  spoken 
plain  to  her.  'I  am  such  as  Dinah  is — 'deed  I  am!  Ye've 
lost  a  fool  av  a  girl  that'll  never  look  at  you  again,  an'  ye've 
lost  what  ye  niver  had — your  common  honesty.  If  you  man- 
age your  men  as  you  manage  your  love-makin',  small  won- 
dher  they  call  you  the  worst  corp'ril  in  the  comp'ny.  Come 
away,  mother,'  sez  she. 

"But  divil  a  fut  would  the  ould  woman  budge!  *  D'you 
hould  by  that?"  sez  she,  peerin'  up  under  her  thick  gray 
eyebrows. 

" '  Ay,  an'  wud,'  said  I,  '  tho'  Dinah  gave  me  the  go  twintr 


1 68  THE    COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

times.  I'll  have  no  thruck  with  you  or  yours,'  sez  I.  *  Take 
your  child  away,  ye  shameless  woman.' 

"'An'  am  I  shameless?'  sez  she,  bringin' her  hands  up 
above  her  head.  *  Thin  what  are  you,  ye  lyin',  schamin', 
weak-kneed,  dhirty-souled  son  of  a  sutler?  Am  /  shame- 
less? Who  put  the  open  shame  on  me  an'  my  child  that  we 
shud  go  beggin'  through  the  lines  in  daylight  for  the  broken 
word  of  a  man?  Double  portion  of  my  shame  be  on  you, 
Terence  Mulvaney,  that  think  yourself  so  strong!  By  Mary 
and  the  saints,  by  blood  and  water,  an'  by  ivry  sorrow  that 
came  into  the  world  since  the  beginnin',  the  black  blight  fall 
on  you  and  yours,  so  that  you  may  niver  be  free  from  pain 
for  another  when  ut's  not  your  own !  May  your  heart  bleed 
in  your  breast  drop  by  drop  wid  all  your  friends  laughin'  at 
the  bleedin'!  Strong  you  think  yourself?  May  your 
strength  be  a  curse  to  you  to  dhrive  you  into  the  divil's 
hands  against  your  own  will!  Clear-eyed  you  are?  May 
your  eyes  see  clear  ivry  step  av  the  dark  path  you  take  till 
the  hot  cinders  av  hell  put  thim  out!  May  the  ragin'  dry 
thirst  in  my  own  ould  bones  go  to  you  that  you  shall  never 
pass  bottle  full  nor  glass  empty!  God  preserve  the  light  av 
your  understandin'  to  you,  my  jewel  av  a  bhoy,  that  ye  may 
niver  forget  what  you  mint  to  be  an'  do,  when  you're  wal- 
lowin'  in  the  muck!  May  ye  see  the  betther  and  follow  the 
worse  as  long  as  there's  breath  in  your  body!  an'  may  ye  die 
quick  in  a  strange  land  watchin'  your  death  before  ut  takes 
you  an'  enable  to  stir  hand  or  fut! ' 

"  I  neard  a  scufflin'  in  the  room  behind,  and  thin  Dinah 
Shadd's  hand  dhropped  into  mine  like  a  roseleaf  into  a 
muddy  road. 

" '  The  half  av  that  I'll  take,'  sez  she,  '  an'  more  too,  if  I 
can.  Go  home,  ye  silly-talkin'  woman — go  home  an'  con- 
fess.' 

"'Come    away  I     Come    away!'    sez    Judy,    pullin'    her 


THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH  SIIADD.  169 

mother  by  the  shawl.  *  'Twas  none  av  Terence's  fault.  For 
the  love  av  Mary  stop  the  talkin' ! ' 

"'An'  you!'  said  ould  Mother  Sheehy,  spinnin'  round 
forninst  Dinah.  'Will  ye  take  the  half  av  that  man's  load? 
Stand  off  from  him,  Dinah  Shadd,  before  he  takes  you  down 
too — you  that  look  to  be  a  quarthermaster-sergint's  wife  in 
five  years.  Ye  look  too  high,  child.  Ye  shall  wash  for  the 
quarthermaster-sergint,  whin  he  pl'ases  to  give  you  the  job 
out  av  charity;  but  a  privit's  wife  ye  shall  be  to  the  end,  an' 
ivry  sorrow  of  a  privit's  wife  ye  shall  know,  an'  niver  a  joy 
but  wan,  that  shall  go  from  you  Hke  the  tide  from  a  rock. 
The  pain  of  bearin'  ye  shall  know,  but  niver  the  pleasure  of 
givin'  the  breast;  an'  you  shall  put  away  a  man-child  into 
the  common  ground  wid  niver  a  priest  to  say  a  prayer  over 
him,  an'  on  that  man-child  ye  shall  think  ivry  day  av  your 
life.  Think  long,  Dinah  Shadd,  for  you'll  niver  have  an- 
other  tho'  you  pray  till  your  knees  are  bleedin'.  The  moth- 
ers av  children  shall  mock  you  behind  your  back  whin  you're 
wringin'  over  the  wash-tub.  You  shall  know  what  ut  is  to 
take  a  dhrunken  husband  home  an'  see  him  go  tc-  the  gyard- 
room.  Will  that  pl'ase  you,  Dinah  Shadd,  that  won't  be 
seen  talkin'  to  my  daughter?  You  shall  talk  to  worse  than 
Judy  before  all's  over.  The  sergints'  wives  shall  look  down 
on  you,  contemptuous  daughter  av  a  sergint,  an'  you  shall 
cover  ut  all  up  wid  a  smilin'  face  whin  your  heart's  burstin'. 
Stand  off  him,  Dinah  Shadd,  for  I've  put  the  Black  Curse 
of  Shielygh  upon  him,  an'  his  own  mouth  shall  make  ut 
good.' 

"  She  pitched  forward  on  her  head  an'  began  foamin'  at 
the  mouth.  Dinah  Shadd  ran  out  with  water,  an'  Judy 
dhragged  the  ould  woman  into  the  veranda  till  she  sat  up. 

"  '  Tm  old  an'  forlore,'  slie  sez,  trcmhlin'  an'  cryin',  'an' 
'tis  like  I  say  a  dale  more  than  I  mane.' 

" '  When   you're    able    to   walk — go,'    says    ould    Mother 


I70  THE   COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

Shadcl.  '  This  house  has  no  place  for  the  Hkes  av  you,  that 
have  cursed  my  daughter.' 

"'Eyah!'  said  the  ould  woman.  '  Hard  words  break  no 
bones,  an'  Dinah  Shadd'll  kape  the  love  av  her  husband  till 
my  bones  are  green  corn.  Judy,  darhn',  I  misremember 
what  I  came  here  for.  Can  you  lend  us  the  bottom  av  a 
taycup  av  tay,  Mrs.  Shadd  ?  ' 

"  But  Judy  dhragged  her  off,  cryin'  as  tho'  her  heart  wud 
break.  An'  Dinah  Shadd  an'  I,  in  ten  minutes  we  had  for- 
got ut  all." 

"  Then  why  do  you  remember  it  now? '  said  I. 

*'  Is  ut  like  I'd  forgit?  Ivry  word  that  wicked  ould  woman 
spoke  fell  thrue  in  my  life  aftherward ;  an'  I  cud  ha'  stud  ut 
all — stud  ut  all,  except  fwhen  little  Shadd  was  born.  That 
was  on  the  line  av  march  three  months  afther  the  regiment 
was  taken  wid  cholera.  We  were  betune  Umballa  an' 
Kalka  thin,  an'  I  was  on  picket.  When  I  came  off,  the 
women  showed  me  the  child,  an'  ut  turned  on  ut's  side  an' 
died  as  I  looked.  We  buried  him  by  the  road,  an'  Father 
Victor  was  a  day's  march  behind  wid  the  heavy  baggage,  so 
the  com.p'ny  captain  read  prayer.  An'  since  then  I've  been 
a  childless  man,  an'  all  else  that  ould  Mother  Sheehy  put 
upon  me  an'  Dinah  Shadd.     What  do  you  think,  sorr?  "' 

I  thought  a  good  deal,  but  it  seemed  better  then  to  reach 
out  for  Mulvaney's  hand.  This  demonstration  nearly  cost 
me  the  use  of  three  fingers.  Whatever  he  knows  of  his 
weaknesses,  Mulvaney  is  entirely  ignorant  of  his  strength. 

"  But  what  do  you  think?  "  he  insisted,  as  I  was  straighten- 
ing out  the  crushed  member. 

My  reply  was  drowned  in  yells  and  outcries  from  the  next 
fire,  where  ten  men  were  shouting  for  "Orth'ris! ''  "  Privit 
Orth'ris!  "  "  Mistah  Or-ther-ris !  '^  "  Deah  boy!  "  "  Cap'n 
Orth'ris!  "  "  Field-Marshal  Orth'ris!  "  "  Stanley,  you  pen- 
n'orth o'pop,  come  'ere  to  your  own  comp'ny!"     And  the 


THE    COURTING   OF  DiNAII  SHADD.  171 

cockney,  who  had  been  dehghting  another  audience  with 
recondite  and  Rabelaisian  yarns,  was  shot  down  among  his 
admirers  by  the  major  force. 

"You've  crumpled  my  dress-shirt  'orrid,"  said  he;  "an' 
I  shan't  sing  no  more  to  this  'ere  bloomin'  drawin'-room." 

Learoyd,  roused  by  the  confusion,  uncoiled  himself,  crept 
behind  Ortheris,  and  raised  him  aloft  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Sing,  ye  bloomin'  hummin'-bird!  "  said  he;  and  Ortheris, 
beating  time  on  Learoyd's  skull,  delivered  himself,  in  the 
raucous  voice  of  the  Ratchff  Highway,  of  the  following  chaste 
and  touching  ditty: 

"  My  girl  she  give  me  the  go  oncet, 

When  I  was  a  London  lad, 
An'  I  went  en  the  drink  for  a  fortnight, . 

An'  then  I  went  to  the  bad. 
The  queen  she  gave  me  a  shillin', 

To  fight  for  'er  over  the  seas  ; 
But  guv'ment  built  me  a  fever-trap, 

An'  Injia  gave  me  disease. 

"  Chorus. — Hoi  don't  you  'eed  what  a  girl  sa3'S, 
An'  don't  you  go  for  the  beer; 
But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass, 
An'  that  is  why  I'm  'ere. 

"  I  fired  a  shot  at  an  Afghan; 

The  beggar  'e  fired  again; 
An'  I  lay  on  my  bed  with  a  'ole  in  my  'ead, 

An'  missed  the  next  campaign! 
I  up  with  my  gun  at  a  Burman 

Who  carried  a  bloomin*  dah. 
But  the  cartridge  stuck  an'  the  bay'nit  bruk. 

An'  all  I  got  was  the  scar. 

**  Chorus — IIoI  don't  you  aim  at  a  Afghan 

When  you  stand  on  the  sky-line  clear; 
An'  don't  you  go  for  a  Burman 
If  none  o'  your  friends  is  near. 


172  THE    COURTING   OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

**  I  served  my  time  for  a  corp'ral, 

An'  wetted  ray  stripes  with  pop, 
For  I  went  on  the  bend  with  a  intimate  friend. 

An'  finished  the  night  in  the  Shop. 
I  served  my  time  for  a  sergeant; 

The  colonel  'e  sez  '  No! 
The  most  you'll  be  is  a  full  C.  B. ; '  * 

An' — very  next  night  'twas  so. 

"  Chorus. — Ho!  don't  you  go  for  a  corp'ral, 
Unless  your  'ead  is  clear; 
But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass. 
An'  that  is  why  I'm  'ere. 

"  I've  tasted  the  luck  o'  the  army 

In  barrack  an'  camp  an'  clink, 
An'  I  lost  my  tip  through  the  bloomin'  trip 

Along  o'  the  women  an'  drink. 
I'm  down  at  the  heel  o'  my  service, 

An'  when  I  am  laid  on  the  shelf, 
My  very  wust  friend  from  beginning  to  end, 

By  the  blood  of  a  mouse,  was  myself. 

*'  Chorus. — Ho!  don't  you  'eed  what  a  girl  says. 
An'  don't  you  go  for  the  beer; 
But  I  was  an  ass  when  I  was  at  grass, 
Vn'  that  is  why  I'm  'ere." 

"  Ay,  listen  to  our  little  man  now,  singin'  an'  shoutin'  as 
tho'  trouble  had  never  touched  him!  D'you  remember  when 
he  went  mad  with  the  homesickness?"  said  Mulvaney,  re- 
calling a  never-to-be-forgotten  season  when  Otheris  waded 
through  the  deep  waters  of  affliction  and  behaved  abomi- 
nably.    "  But  he's  talkin'  the  bitter  truth,  tho'.     Eyah ! 

"  '  My  very  worst  friend  from  beginning  to  end, 
By  the  blood  of  a  mouse,  was  mesilf.' 

Hark   out!"   he  continued,  jumping   to   his  feet.     "What 
did  I  tell  you,  sorr?  " 

*  Confined  to  barracks. 


THE    COUR'IXG    OF   DIXAH    SlIADD.  173 

Fttl!  spttl!  whttl!  went  the  rifles  of  the  })icket  in  the 
darkness,  and  we  heard  their  feet  rushing  toward  us  as 
Ortheris  tumbled  past  me  and  into  his  great-coat.  It  is  an 
impressive  thing,  even  in  peace,  to  see  an  armed  camp  spring 
to  hfe  with  clatter  of  accoutrements,  click  of  Martini  levers, 
and  blood-curdling  speculations  as  to  the  fate  of  missing 
boots.  "  Pickets  dhriven  in,"  said  Mulvaney,  staring  like  a 
buck  at  bay  into  the  soft,  clinging  gloom.  "  Stand  by  an' 
kape  close  to  us.  If  'tis  cavUry,  they  may  blundher  into  the 
fires." 

Tr — ra  ra!  ta — ra — la  I  sang  the  thrice-blessed  bugle, 
and  the  rush  to  form  square  began.  There  is  much  rest  and 
peace  in  the  heart  of  a  square  if  you  arrive  in  time  and  are 
not  trodden  upon  too  frequently.  The  smell  of  leather  belts, 
fatigue  uniform,  and  packed  humanity  is  comforting. 

A  dull  grumble,  that  seemed  to  come  from  every  point  of 
the  compass  at  once,  struck  our  listening  ears,  and  little  thrills 
of  excitement  ran  down  the  faces  of  the  square.  Those  who 
write  so  learnedly  about  judging  distance  by  sound  should 
hear  cavalry  on  the  move  at  night.  A  high-pitched  yell  on 
the  left  told  us  that  the  disturbers  were  friends — the  cavalry 
of  the  attack,  who  had  missed  their  direction  in  the  darkness, 
and  were  feeling  blindly  for  some  sort  of  support  and  camp- 
ing-ground.    The  difficulty  explained,  they  jingled  on. 

"  Double  pickets  out  there ;  by  your  arms  lie  down  and 
sleep  the  rest,"  said  the  major,  and  the  square  melted  away 
as  the  men  scrambled  for  their  places  by  the  fires. 

When  I  woke  I  saw  Mulvaney,  the  night-dew  gemming 
his  moustache,  leaning  on  his  rifle  at  picket,  lonely  as  Prome- 
tiieus  on  his  rock,  with  I  know  not  what  vultures  tearing  his 
liver. 


THE   MAN  WHO  WAS. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS. 


Let  it  be  clearly  understood  that  the  Russian  is  a  de- 
lightful person  till  he  tucks  his  shirt  in.  As  an  Oriental  he 
is  charming.  It  is  only  when  he  insists  upon  being  treated 
as  the  most  easterly  of  Western  peoples,  instead  of  the 
most  westerly  of  Easterns,  that  he  becomes  a  racial  anomaly 
extremely  difficult  to  handle.  The  host  never  knows  which 
side  of  his  nature  is  going  to  turn  up  next. 

Dirkovitch  was  a  Russian — a  Russian  of  the  Russians,  as 
he  said — who  appeared  to  get  his  bread  by  serving  the  czar 
as  an  officer  in  a  Cossack  regiment,  and  corresponding  for  a 
Russian  newspaper  with  a  name  that  was  never  twice  the 
same.  He  was  a  handsome  young  Oriental,  with  a  taste  for 
wandering  through  unexplored  portions  of  the  earth,  and  he 
arrived  in  India  from  nowhere  in  particular.  At  least  no 
living  man  could  ascertain  whether  it  was  by  way  of  Balkh, 
Budukhshan,  Chitral,  Beloochistan,  Nepaul,  or  anywhere  else. 
The  Indian  government,  being  in  an  unusually  affable  mood, 
gave  orders  that  he  was  to  be  civilly  treated,  and  shown  every- 
thing that  was  to  be  seen;  so  he  drifted,  talking  bad  English 
and  worse  French,  from  one  city  to  another  till  he  forgathered 
with  her  Majesty's  White  Hussars  in  the  city  of  Peshawur, 
which  stands  at  the  mouth  of  that  narrow  sword-cut  in  the 
hills  that  men  call  the  Khybcr  Pass.  He  was  undoubtedly 
an  officer,  and  he  was  decorated,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Russians,  with  little  enamelled  crosses,  and  he  could  talk, 


lyS  Th'^  MAN  WHO   WAS. 

and  (though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  merits)  he  had 
been  given  up  as  a  hopeless  task  or  case  by  the  Black  Ty- 
rones,  who,  individually  and  collectively,  with  hot  whiskey 
a,nd  honey,  mulled  brandy  and  mixed  spirits  of  all  kinds, 
had  striven  in  all  hospitality  to  make  him  drunk.  And  when 
the  Black  Tyrones,  who  are  exclusively  Irish,  fail  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  head  of  a  foreigner,  that  foreigner  is  certain  to 
be  a  superior  man.  This  was  the  argument  of  the  Black 
Tyrones,  but  they  were  ever  an  unruly  and  self-opinionated 
regiment,  and  they  allowed  junior  subalterns  of  four  years' 
service  to  choose  their  wines.  The  spirits  were  always  pur- 
chased by  the  colonel  and  a  committee  of  majors.  And  a 
regiment  that  would  so  behave  may  be  respected  but  cannot 
be  loved. 

The  White  Hussars  were  as  conscientious  in  choosing  their 
wine  as  in  charging  the  enemy.  There  was  a  brandy  that 
had  been  purchased  by  a  cultured  colonel  a  few  years  after 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.  It  has  been  maturing  ever  since, 
and  it  was  a  marvellous  brandy  at  the  purchasing.  The 
memory  of  that  liquor  would  cause  men  to  weep  as  they  lay 
dying  in  the  teak  forests  of  upper  Burmah  or  the  slime  of 
the  Irrawaddy.  And  there  was  a  port  which  was  notable; 
and  there  was  a  champagne  of  an  obscure  brand,  which  al- 
ways came  to  mess  without  any  labels,  because  the  White 
Hussars  wished  none  to  know  where  the  source  of  supply 
might  be  found.  The  officer  on  whose  head  the  champagne- 
choosing  lay  was  forbidden  the  use  of  tobacco  for  six  weeks 
previous  to  sampling. 

This  particularity  of  detail  is  necessary  to  emphasize  the 
fact  that  that  champagne,  that  port,  and,  above  all,  that 
brandy — the  green  and  yellow  and  white  liqueurs  did  not 
count — was  placed  at  the  absolute  disposition  of  Dirkovitch, 
and  he  enjoyed  himself  hugely — even  more  than  among  the 
Black  Tyrones. 


THE  MAN  WHO    WAS.  179 

But  he  remained  distressingly  European  through  it  all. 
Tiie  White  Hussars  were—"  My  dear  true  friends,"  "  Fellow- 
soldiers  glorious,"  and  "  Brothers  inseparable."  He  would 
unburden  himself  by  the  hour  on  the  glorious  future  that 
awaited  the  combined  arms  of  England  and  Russia  when 
their  hearts  and  their  territories  should  run  side  by  side,  and 
the  great  mission  of  civilizing  Asia  should  begin.  That 
was  unsatisfactory,  because  Asia  is  not  going  to  be  civilized 
after  the  methods  of  the  West.  There  is  too  much  Asia, 
and  she  is  too  old.  You  cannot  reform  a  lady  of  many 
lovers,  and  Asia  has  been  insatiable  in  her  flirtations  afore- 
time. She  will  never  attend  Sunday-school,  or  learn  to  vote 
save  with  swords  for  tickets. 

Dirkovitch  knew  this  as  well  as  any  one  else,  but  it  suited 
him  to  talk  special-correspondently  and  to  make  himself  as 
genial  as  he  could.  Now  and  then  he  volunteered  a  little, 
a  very  little,  information  about  his  own  Sotnia  of  Cossacks, 
left  apparently  to  look  after  themselves  somewhere  at  the 
back  of  beyond.  He  had  done  rough  work  in  Central  Asia, 
and  had  seen  rather  more  help-yourself  fighting  than  most 
men  of  his  years.  But  he  was  careful  never  to  betray  his 
superiority,  and  more  than  careful  to  praise  on  all  occasions 
the  appearance,  drill,  uniform,  and  organization  of  her  Maj- 
esty's White  Hussars.  And,  indeed,  they  were  a  regiment 
to  be  admired.  When  Mrs.  Durgan,  widow  of  the  late  Sir 
John  Durgan,  arrived  in  their  station,  and  after  a  short  time 
had  been  proposed  to  by  every  single  man  at  mess,  she  put 
the  public  sentiment  very  neatly  when  she  explained  that 
they  were  all  so  nice  that  unless  she  could  marry  them  all, 
mcluding  the  colonel  and  some  majors  who  were  already 
married,  she  was  not  going  to  content  herself  with  one  of 
them.  Wherefore  she  wedded  a  little  man  in  a  rifle  regiment 
— being  by  nature  contradictious — and  the  White  Hussars 
were  going  to  wear  crape  on  their  arms,  but  compromised  by 


I  So  Tin:   MAN  WHO   WAS. 

attending  the  wedding  in  full  force,  and  lining  the  aisle  with 
unutterable  reproach.  She  had  jilted  them  all — from  Basset- 
Holmer,  the  senior  captain,  to  Little  Mildred,  the  last  subal- 
tern, and  he  could  have  given  her  four  thousand  a  year  and 
a  title.  He  was  a  viscount,  and  on  his  arrival  the  mess  had 
said  he  had  better  go  into  the  Guards,  because  they  were  all 
sons  of  large  grocers  and  small  clothiers  in  the  Hussars,  but 
Mildred  begged  very  hard  to  be  allowed  to  stay,  and  be- 
haved so  prettily  that  he  was  forgiven,  and  became  a  man, 
which  is  much  more  important  than  being  any  sort  of  vis- 
count. 

The  only  persons  who  did  not  share  the  general  regard  for 
the  White  Hussars  were  a  few  thousand  gentlemen  of  Jewish 
extraction  who  lived  across  the  border,  and  answered  to  the 
name  of  Pathan.  They  had  only  met  the  regiment  official- 
ly, and  for  something  less  than  twenty  minutes,  but  the  in- 
terview, which  was  complicated  with  many  casualties,  had 
filled  them  with  prejudice.  They  even  called  the  White 
Hussars  "children  of  the  devil,"  and  sons  of  persons  whom 
it  v/ould  be  perfectly  impossible  to  meet  in  decent  society. 
Yet  they  were  not  above  making  their  aversion  fill  their 
money-belts.  The  regiment  possessed  carbines,  beautiful 
Martini-Henri  carbines,  that  would  cob  a  bullet  into  an 
enemy's  camp  at  one  thousand  yards,  and  were  even  handier 
than  the  long  rifle.  Therefore  they  were  coveted  all  along 
the  border,  and,  since  demand  inevitably  breeds  supply,  they 
were  supphed  at  the  risk  of  hfe  and  limb  for  exactly  their 
weight  in  coined  silver — seven  and  one  half  pounds  of 
rupees,  or  sixteen  pounds  and  a  few  shillings  each,  reckon- 
ing the  rupee  at  par.  They  were  stolen  at  night  by  snaky- 
haired  thieves  that  crawled  on  their  stomachs  under  the  nose 
of  the  sentries;  they  disappeared  mysteriously  from  arm- 
racks  ;  and  in  the  hot  weather,  when  all  the  doors  and  win- 
dows were  open,  they  vanished  like  puffs  of  their  own  smoke. 


THE   MAX  WHO    WAS.  1 81 

The  border  people  desired  them  first  for  their  own  family 
vendettas,  and  then  for  contingencies.  But  in  the  long  cold 
nights  of  the  Northern  Indian  winter  they  were  stolen  most 
extensively.  The  traffic  of  murder  was  liveliest  among  the 
hills  at  that  season,  and  prices  ruled  high.  The  regimental 
guards  were  first  doubled  and  then  trebled.  A  trooper  does 
not  much  care  if  he  loses  a  weapon — government  must  make 
it  good — but  he  deeply  resents  the  loss  of  his  sleep.  The 
regiment  grew  very  angry,  and  one  night-thief  who  managed 
to  limp  away  bears  the  visible  marks  of  their  anger  upon  him 
to  this  hour.  That  incident  stopped  the  burglaries  for  a 
time,  and  the  guards  were  reduced  accordingly,  and  the  regi- 
ment devoted  itself  to  polo  with  unexpected  results,  for  it 
beat  by  two  goals  to  one  that  very  terrible  polo  corps  the 
Lushkar  Light  Horse,  though  the  latter  had  four  ponies 
apiece  for  a  short  hour's  fight,  as  well  as  a  native  officer  who 
played  Hke  a  lambent  flame  across  the  ground. 

Then  they  gave  a  dinner  to  celebrate  the  event.  The 
Lushkar  team  came,  and  Dirkovitch  came,  in  th-e  fullest  full 
uniform  of  a  Cossack  officer,  which  is  as  full  as  a  dressing- 
gown,  and  was  introduced  to  the  Lushkars,  and  opened  his 
eyes  as  he  regarded  them.  They  were  lighter  men  than  the 
Hussars,  and  they  carried  themselves  with  the  swing  that  is 
the  peculiar  right  of  the  Punjab  frontier  force  and  all  irreg- 
ular horse.  Like  everything  else  in  the  service,  it  has  to  be 
learned;  but,  unlike  many  things,  it  is  never  forgotten,  and 
remains  on  the  body  till  death. 

The  great  beam-roofed  mess-room  of  the  White  Hussars 
was  a  sight  to  be  remembered.  All  the  mess-plate  was  on 
the  long  table — the  same  table  that  had  served  up  the  bodies 
of  five  dead  officers  in  a  forgotten  fight  long  and  long  ago-^ 
the  dingy,  battered  standards  faced  the  door  of  entrance, 
clumps  of  winter  roses  lay  between  the  silver  candlesticks, 
the  portraits  of  eminent  officers  deceased  looked  down  on 


1 82  THE   MAN  WHO   WAS. 

their  successors  from  between  the  heads  of  san:ibhur,  nilghai, 
maikhor,  and,  pride  of  all  the  mess,  two  grinning  snow-leop- 
ards that  had  cost  Basset-Holmer  four  months'  leave  that  he 
might  have  spent  in  England  instead  of  on  the  road  to 
Thibet,  and  the  daily  risk  of  his  life  on  ledge,  snow-slide, 
and  glassy  grass-slope. 

The  servants,  in  spotless  white  muslin  and  the  crest  of 
their  regiments  on  the  brow  of  their  turbans,  waited  behind 
their  masters,  who  were  clad  in  the  scarlet  and  gold  of  the 
White  Hussars  and  the  cream  and  silver  of  the  Lushkar 
Light  Horse.  Dirkovitch's  dull  green  uniform  was  the  only 
dark  spot  at  the  board,  but  his  big  onyx  eyes  made  up  for 
it.  He  was  fraternizing  effusively  with  the  captain  of  the 
Lushkar  team,  who  was  wondering  how  many  of  Dirkovitch's 
Cossacks  his  own  long,  lathy  down-countrymen  could  ac- 
count for  in  a  fair  charge.  But  one  does  not  speak  of  these 
things  openly. 

The  talk  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  the  regimental  band 
played  between  the  courses,  as  is  the  immemorial  custom, 
till  all  tongues  ceased  for  a  moment  with  the  removal  of  the 
dinner  slips  and  the  First  Toast  of  Obligation,  when  the 
colonel,  rising,  said,  "  Mr.  Vice,  the  Queen,"  and  Little  Mil- 
dred from  the  bottom  of  the  table  answered,  "  The  Queen, 
God  bless  her! "  and  the  big  spurs  clanked  as  the  big  men 
heaved  themselves  up  and  drank  the  Queen,  upon  whose  pay 
they  were  falsely  supposed  to  pay  their  mess-bills.  That 
sacrament  of  the  mess  never  grows  old,  and  never  ceases  to 
bring  a  lump  into  the  throat  of  the  Hstener  wherever  he  be, 
by  land  or  by  sea.  Dirkovitch  rose  with  his  "brothers  glori- 
ous," but  he  could  not  understand.  No  one  but  an  officer 
can  understand  what  the  toast  means;  and  the  bulk  have 
more  sentiment  than  comprehension.  It  all  comes  to  the 
same  in  the  end,  as  the  enemy  said  when  he  was  wriggling 
on  a  lance-point.     Immediately  after  the  little  silence  that 


THE   MAN  WHO   WAS.  183 

follows  on  tlie  ceremony  there  entered  the  native  officer  who 
had  played  for  the  Lushkar  team.  He  could  not  of  course 
eat  with  the  alien,  but  he  came  in  at  dessert,  all  six  feet  of 
him,  with  the  blue-and-silver  turban  atop  and  the  big  black 
top-boots  below.  The  mess  rose  joyously  as  he  thrust  for- 
ward the  hilt  of  his  sabre,  in  token  of  fealty,  for  the  colonel 
of  the  White  Hussars  to  touch,  and  dropped  into  a  vacant 
chair  amid  shouts  of  '' Rung  ho  I  Hira  Singh!"  (which  be- 
ing translated  means  "  Go  in  and  win!").  "Did  I  whack 
you  over  the  knee,  old  man?  "  "  Ressaidar  Sahib,  what  the 
devil  made  you  play  that  kicking  pig  of  a  pony  in  the  last 
ten  minutes?"  "  Shabash,  Ressaidar  Sahib!"  Then  the 
voice  of  the  colonel,  "  The  health  of  Ressaidar  Hira  Singh !  " 

After  the  shouting  had  died  away  Hira  Singh  rose  to  re- 
ply, for  he  was  the  cadet  of  a  royal  house,  the  son  of  a  king's 
son,  and  knew  what  was  due  on  these  occasions.  Thus  he 
spoke  in  the  vernacular: 

"  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers  of  this  regiment,  much  honor 
have  you  done  me.  This  will  I  remember.  We  came  down 
from  afar  to  play  you;  but  we  were  beaten."  ("No  fault  of 
yours,  Ressaidar  Sahib.  Played  on  our  own  ground,  y' 
know.  Your  ponies  were  cramped  from  the  railway.  Don't 
apologize.")  "Therefore  perhaps  we  will  come  again  if  it 
be  so  ordained."  ("Hear!  Hear,  hear,  indeed!  Bravo! 
Hsh!  ")  "  Then  we  will  play  you  afresh  "  ("  Happy  to  meet 
you"),  "till  there  are  left  no  feet  upon  our  ponies.  Thus  far 
for  sport."  He  dropped  one  hand  on  his  sword-hilt  and  his 
eye  wandered  to  Dirkovitch  lolling  back  in  his  chair.  "  But  if 
by  the  will  of  God  there  arises  any  other  game  which  is  not  the 
polo  game,  then  be  assured.  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers,  that 
we  shall  play  it  out  side  by  side,  though  they  " — again  his  eye 
sought  Dirkovitch — "though  the}\  I  say,  have  fifty  ponies  to 
our  one  horse."  And  with  a  deep-mouthed  Rung  ho  I  that 
rang  like  a  musket-butt  on  flagstones,  he  sat  down  amid 
shoutings. 


i84  THE   MAN  WHO   WAS. 

Dirkovitch,  who  had  devoted  himself  steadily  to  the  brandy 
— the  terrible  brandy  aforementioned — did  not  understand, 
nor  did  the  expurgated  translations  offered  to  him  at  all  con- 
vey the  point.  Decidedly  the  native  officer's  was  the  speech 
of  the  evening,  and  the  clamor  might  have  continued  to  the 
dawn  had  it  not  been  broken  by  the  noise  of  a  shot  without 
that  sent  every  man  feeling  at  his  defenceless  left  side.  It 
is  notable  that  Dirkovitch  "  reached  back,"  after  the  Ameri- 
can fashion — a  gesture  that  set  the  captain  of  the  Lushkar 
team  wondering  how  Cossack  officers  were  armed  at  mess. 
Then  there  was  a  scuffle  and  a  yell  of  pain. 

"Carbine  stealing  again!  "  said  the  adjutant,  calmly  sink- 
ing back  in  his  chair.  "  This  comes  of  reducing  the  guards. 
I  hope  the  sentries  have  killed  him." 

The  feet  of  armed  men  pounded  on  the  veranda  flags, 
and  it  sounded  as  though  something  was  being  dragged. 

"Why  don't  they  put  him  in  the  cells  till  the  morning?" 
said  the  colonel  testily.  "  See  if  they've  damaged  him,  ser- 
geant." 

The  mess-sergeant  fled  out  into  the  darkness,'  and  re- 
turned with  two  troopers  and  a  corporal,  all  very  much  per- 
plexed. 

"  Caught  a  man  stealin'  carbines,  sir,"  said  the  corporal. 
"  Leastways  'e  was  crawlin'  toward  the  barricks,  sir,  past  the 
main-road  sentries;  an'  the  sentry  'e  says,  sir " 

The  limp  heap  of  rags  upheld  by  the  three  men  groaned. 
Never  was  seen  so  destitute  and  demoralized  an  Afghan. 
He  was  turbanless,  shoeless,  caked  with  dirt,  and  all  but  dead 
with  rough  handling.  Hira  Singh  started  slightly  at  the 
sound  of  the  man's  pain.  Dirkovitch  took  another  hqueur 
glass  of  brandy. 

"  What  does  the  sentry  say?  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Sez  he  speaks  English,  sir,"  said  the  corporal. 

"  So  you  brought  him  into  mess  instead  of  handing  him 


THE   J/A.V  IVIIO   IVAS.  1S5 

over  to  the  sergeant!  Tf  he  spoke  all  the  tongues  of  the 
Pentecost  you've  no  business " 

Again  the  bundle  groaned  and  muttered.  Little  Mildred 
had  risen  from  his  place  to  inspect.  He  jumped  back  as 
though  he  had  been  shot. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  sir,  to  send  the  men  away," 
said  he  to  the  colonel,  for  he  was  a  much-privileged  subal- 
tern. He  put  his  arms  round  the  rag-bound  horror  as  he 
spoke  and  dropped  him  into  a  chair.  It  may  not  have  been 
explained  that  the  littleness  of  Mildred  lay  in  his  being  six 
feet  four,  and  big  in  proportion.  The  corporal,  seeing  that 
an  officer  was  disposed  to  look  after  the  capture,  and  that 
the  colonel's  eye  was  beginning  to  blaze,  promptly  removed 
himself  and  his  men.  The  mess  was  left  alone  with  the  car- 
bine thief,  who  laid  his  head  on  the  table  and  wept  bitterly, 
hopelessly,  and  inconsolably,  as  little  children  weep. 

Hira  Singh  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  long-drawn  vernacular 
oath.  "Colonel  Sahib,"  said  he,  "that  man  is  no  Afghan, 
for  they  weep  ^Ai  /  Aif  Nor  is  he  of  Hindustan,  for  they 
weep  *  Ok  I  Ho  / '  He  weeps  after  the  fashion  of  the  white 
men,  who  say  '  Ow  !    Oivf''' 

"  Now  where  the  dickens  did  you  get  that  knowledge,  Hira 
Singh?"  said  the  captain  of  the  Lushkar  team. 

"Hear  him!"  said  Hira  Singh  simply,  pointing  at  the 
crumpled  figure,  that  wept  as  though  it  would  never  cease. 

"He  said, 'My  God!'"  said  Little  Mildred.  "I  heard 
him  say  it." 

The  colonel  and  the  mess-room  looked  at  the  man  in  si- 
lence. It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  hear  a  man  cry.  A  woman 
can  sob  from  the  top  of  her  palate,  or  her  lips,  or  anywhere 
else,  but  a  man  cries  from  his  diaphragm,  and  it  rends  him 
to  pieces.  Also,  the  exhibition  causes  the  throat  of  the  on- 
looker to  close  at  the  top. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  the  colonel,  coughing  tremendously. 


i86  THE   MAN  WHO   WAS. 

"  We  ought  to  send  him  to  hospital.  He's  been  man- 
handled/' 

Now  the  adjutant  loved  his  rifles.  They  were  to  him  as 
his  grandchildren — the  men  standing  in  the  first  place.  He 
grunted  rebelliously:  "  I  can  understand  an  Afghan  stealing, 
because  he's  made  that  way.  But  I  can't  understand  his 
crying.     That  makes  it  worse." 

The  brandy  must  have  affected  Dirkovitch,  for  he  lay 
back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  There  was  noth- 
ing special  in  the  ceiling  beyond  a  shadow  as  of  a  huge  black 
coffin.  Owing  to  some  pecuHarity  in  the  construction  of  the 
mess-room,  this  shadow  was  always  thrown  when  the  candles 
were  lighted.  It  never  disturbed  the  digestion  of  the  White 
Hussars.     They  were,  in  fact,  rather  proud  of  it. 

"  Is  he  going  to  cry  all  night,"  said  the  colonel,  "  or  are 
we  supposed  to  sit  up  with  Little  Mildred's  guest  until  he 
feels  better?  " 

The  man  in  the  chair  threw  up  his  head  and  stared  at  the 
mess.  Outside,  the  wheels  of  the  first  of  those  bidden  to  the 
festivities  crunched  the  roadway. 

"O  my  God!  "  said  the  man  in  the  chair,  and  every  soul 
in  the  mess  rose  to  his  feet.  Then  the  Lushkar  captain  did 
a  deed  for  which  he  ought  to  have  been  given  the  Victoria 
Cross — distinguished  gallantry  in  a  fight  against  overwhelm- 
ing curiosity.  He  picked  up  his  team  with  his  eyes  as  the 
hostess  picks  up  the  ladies  at  the  opportune  moment,  and 
pausing  only  by  the  colonel's  chair  to  say,  "This  isn't  oitr 
affair,  you  know,  sir,"  led  the  team  into  the  veranda  and  the 
gardens.  Hira  Singh  was  the  last,  and  he  looked  at  Dir- 
kovitch as  he  moved.  But  Dirkovitch  had  departed  into  a 
brandy  paradise  of  his  own.  His  lips  moved  without  sound, 
and  he  was  studying  the  cofiin  on  the  ceiHng. 

"White — white  all  over,"  said  Basset-Holmer,  the  adju- 
tant. "What  a  pernicious  renegade  he  must  be!  I  wonder 
where  he  came  from?" 


THE  MAN  WHO    WAS.  187 

The  colonel  shook  the  man  gently  by  the  arm,  and  "  Who 
are  you?  "  said  he. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  man  stared  round  the  mess- 
room  and  smiled  in  the  colonel's  face.  Little  Mildred,  who 
was  always  more  of  a  woman  than  a  man  till  "  Boot  and  sad- 
dle" was  sounded,  repeated  the  question  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  drawn  confidences  from  a  geyser.  The  man 
only  smiled.  Dirkovitch,  at  the  far  end  of  the  table,  slid 
gently  from  his  chair  to  the  floor.  No  son  of  Adam,  in  this 
present  imperfect  world,  can  mix  the  Hussars"  champagne 
with  the  Hussars'  brandy  by  five  and  eight  glasses  of  each 
without  remembering  the  pit  whence  he  has  been  digged  and 
descending  thither.  The  band  began  to  play  the  tune  with 
which  the  White  Hussars,  from  the  date  of  their  formation, 
preface  all  their  functions.  They  would  sooner  be  disbanded 
than  abandon  that  tune.  It  is  a  part  of  their  system.  The 
man  straightened  himself  in  his  chair  and  drummed  on  the 
table  with  his  fingers. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  entertain  lunatics,"  said  the 
colonel ;  "  call  a  guard  and  send  him  off  to  the  cells.  We'll 
look  into  the  business  in  the  morning.  Give  him  a  glass  of 
wine  first,  though." 

Little  Mildred  filled  a  sherry  glass  with  the  brandy  and 
thrust  it  over  to  the  man.  He  drank,  and  the  tune  rose 
xouder,  and  he  straightened  himself  yet  more.  Then  he  put 
out  his  long-taloned  hands  to  a  piece  of  plate  opposite  and 
fingered  it  lovingly.  There  was  a  mystery  connected  with 
that  piece  of  plate  in  the  shape  of  a  spring,  which  converted 
what  was  a  seven-branched  candlestick,  three  springs  each 
side  and  one  in  the  middle,  into  a  sort  of  wheel-spoke  can- 
delabrum. He  found  the  spring,  i)ressed  it,  and  laughed 
weakly.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  inspected  a  picture  on 
the  wall,  then  moved  on  to  another  picture,  the  mess  watch- 
ing him  without  a  word.     When  he  came  to  the  mantelpiece 


1 38  THE  MAN  WHO   WAS. 

he  shook  his  head  and  seemed  distressed.  A  piece  of  plate 
representing  a  mounted  hussar  in  full  uniform  caught  his 
eye.  He  pointed  to  it,  and  then  to  the  mantelpiece,  with  in- 
quiry in  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  it — oh,  what  is  it?  "  said  Little  Mildred.  Then, 
as  a  mother  might  speak  to  a  child,  "  That  is  a  horse — yes, 
a  horse." 

Very  slowly  came  the  answer,  in  a  thick,  passionless  gut- 
tural:  "Yes,  I — have  seen.     But — where  is  the  horse?*' 

You  could  have  heard  the  hearts  of  the  mess  beating  as 
the  men  drew  back  to  give  the  stranger  full  room  in  his  wan- 
derings.    There  was  no  question  of  calling  the  guard. 

Again  he  spoke,  very  slowly,  ''Where  is  ^//r  horse?" 

There  is  no  saying  what  happened  after  that.  There  is 
but  one  horse  in  the  White  Hussars,  and  his  portrait  hangs 
outside  the  door  of  the  mess-room.  He  is  the  piebald  drum- 
horse,  the  king  of  the  regimental  band,  that  served  the  regi- 
ment for  seven-and-thirty  years,  and  in  the  end  was  shot  for 
old  age.  Half  the  mess  tore  the  thing  down  from  its  place 
and  thrust  it  into  the  man's  hands.  He  placed  it  above  the 
manteipiece;  it  clattered  on  the  ledge,  as  his  poor  hands 
dropped  it,  and  he  staggered  toward  the  bottom  of  the  table, 
^ailing  into  Mildred's  chair.  The  band  began  to  play  the 
"  River  of  Years  "  waltz,  and'the  laughter  from  the  gardens 
came  into  the  tobacco-scented  mess-room.  But  nobody, 
even  the  youngest,  was  thinking  of  waltzes.  They  all  spoke 
to  one  another  something  after  this  fashion:  "The  drum- 
norse  hasn't  hung  over  the  mantelpiece  since  '67."  "  How 
does  he  know?"  "  Mildred,  go  and  speak  to  him  again." 
'Colonel,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  "Oh,  dry  up,  and 
give  the  poor  devil  a  chance  to  pull  himself  together!  "  "  It 
isn't  possible,  anyhow.      The  man's  a  lunatic." 

Little  Mildred  stood  at  the  coloners  side  talking  into  his 
ear.     "  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  take  your  seats,  please, 


THE   MAN    WHO   WAS.  1 89 

gentlemen?"  he  said,  and  the  mess  dropped  into  the 
chairs. 

Only  Dirkovitch's  seat,  next  to  Little  Mildred's,  was  blank, 
and  Little  Mildred  himself  had  found  Hira  Singh's  place. 
The  wide-eyed  mess-sergeant  filled  the  glasses  in  dead  si- 
lence. Once  more  the  colonel  rose,  but  his  hand  shook  and, 
the  port  spilled  on  the  table  as  he  looked  straight  at  the  man 
in  Little  Mildred's  chair  and  said,  hoarsely,  "  Mr.  Vice,  the 
Queen."  There  was  a  little  pause,  but  the  man  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  answered,  without  hesitation,  "  The  Queen,  God 
bless  her!  "  and  as  he  emptied  the  thin  glass  he  snapped  the 
shank  between  his  fingers. 

Long  and  long  ago,  when  the  Empress  of  India  was  a 
young  woman,  and  there  were  no  unclean  ideals  in  the  land, 
it  was  the  custom  in  a  few  messes  to  drink  the  Queen's  toast 
in  broken  glass,  to  the  huge  delight  of  the  mess  contractors. 
The  custom  is  now  dead,  because  there  is  nothing  to  break 
anything  for,  except  now  and  again  the  word  of  a  govern- 
ment, and  that  has  been  broken  already. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  the  colonel,  with  a  gasp.  "  He's 
not  a  sergeant.     What  in  the  world  is  he?  " 

The  entire  mess  echoed  the  word,  and  the  volley  of  ques- 
tions would  have  scared  any  man.  Small  wonder  that  the 
ragged,  filthy  invader  could  only  smile  and  shake  his  head. 

From  under  the  table,  calm  and  smiling  urbanely,  rose 
Dirkovitch,  who  had  been  roused  from  healthful  slumber  by 
feet  upon  his  body.  By  the  side  of  the  man  he  rose,  and  the 
man  shrieked  and  grovelled  at  his  feet.  It  was  a  horrible 
sight,  coming  so  swiftly  upon  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  toast 
that  had  brought  the  strayed  wits  together. 

Dirkovitch  made  no  offer  to  raise  him,  but  Little  Mildred 
heaved  him  up  in  an  instant.  It  is  not  good  that  a  gentle- 
man who  can  answer  to  the  Queen's  toast  should  lie  at  the 
feet  of  a  subaltern  of  Cossacks. 


190  Til  Li.    MAN   WHO   WAS. 

The  hasty  action  tore  the  wretch's  upper  clothing  nearly 
to  the  waist,  and  his  body  was  seamed  with  dry  black  scars. 
There  is  only  one  weapon  in  the  world  that  cuts  in  parallel 
lines,  and  it  is  neither  the  cane  nor  the  cat.  Dirkovitch  saw 
the  marks,  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated — also,  his  face 
changed.  He  said  something  that  sounded  like  "  Shto  ve 
takete;"  and  the  man,  fawning,  answered  "  Chetyre." 

"What's  that?"  said  everybody  together. 

"  yis  number.  That  is  number  four,  you  know."  Dir- 
kovitch spoke  very  thickly. 

"What  has  a  Queen  s  officer  to  do  with  a  qualified  num- 
ber?" said  the  colonel,  and  there  rose  an  unpleasant  growl 
round  the  table. 

"  How  can  I  tell?  "  said  the  affable  Oriental,  with  a  sweet 
smile.  "  He  is  a — how  you  have  it? — escape — runaway,  from 
over  there." 

He  nodded  toward  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

"Speak  to  him,  if  he'll  answer  you,  and  speak  to  him 
gently,"  said  Little  Mildred,  settling  the  man  in  a  chair.  It 
seemed  most  improper  to  all  present  that  Dirkovitch  should 
sip  brandy  as  he  talked  in  purring,  spitting  Russian  to  the 
creature  who  answered  so  feebly  and  with  such  evident 
dread.  But  since  Dirkovitch  appeared  to  understand,  no 
man  said  a  word.  They  breathed  heavily,  leaning  forward, 
in  the  long  gaps  of  the  conversation.  The  next  time  that 
they  have  no  engagements  on  hand  the  White  Hussars  in- 
tend to  go  to  St.  Petersburg  and  learn  Russian. 

"  He  does  not  know  how  many  years  ago,"  said  Dirkovitch, 
facing  the  mess,  "  but  he  says  it  was  very  long  ago,  in  a  war. 
I  think  that  there  was  an  accident.  He  says  he  was  of  this 
glorious  and  distinguished  regiment  in  the  war." 

"The  rolls!  The  rolls!  Holmer,  get  the  rolls!"  said 
Little  Mildred,  and  the  adjutant  dashed  off  bareheaded  to 
the  orderly-room  where  the  rolls  of  the  regiment  were  kept. 


THE   MAN   WHO    WAS.  191 

He  returned  just  in  time  to  hear  Dirkovitch  conclude, 
"  Therefore  I  am  most  sorry  to  say  there  was  an  accident, 
which  would  have  been  reparable  if  he  had  apologized  to 
that  our  colonel,  which  he  had  insulted." 

Another  growl,  which  the  colonel  tried  to  beat  down.  The 
mess  was  in  no  mood  to  weigh  insults  to  Russian  colonels 
just  then. 

"  He  does  not  remember,  but  I  think  that  there  was  an 
accident,  and  so  he  was  not  exchanged  among  the  prisoners, 
but  he  was  sent  to  another  place — how  do  you  say? — the 
country.  So^  he  says,  he  came  here.  He  does  not  know 
how  he  came.  Eh?  He  was  at  Chepany" — the  man 
caught  the  word,  nodded,  and  shivered — "  at  Zhigansk  and 
Irkutsk.  I  cannot  understand  how  he  escaped.  He  says, 
too,  that  he  was  in  the  forests  for  many  years,  but  how  many 
years  he  has  forgotten — that  with  many  things.  It  was  an 
accident;  done  because  he  did  not  apologize  to  that  our 
colonel.     Ah!" 

Instead  of  echoing  Dirkovitch's  sigh  of  regret,  it  is  sad  to 
record  that  the  White  Hussars  livelily  exhibited  unchristian 
delight  and  other  emotions,  hardly  restrained  by  their  sense 
of  hospitality.  Holmer  flung  the  frayed  and  yellow  regi- 
mental rolls  on  the  table,  and  the  men  flung  themselves  atop 
of  these. 

"Steady!  Fifty-six — fifty-five — fifty-four,"  said  Holmer. 
"  Here  we  are.  '  Lieutenant  Austin  Limmason — missing.' 
That  was  before  Sebastopol.  What  an  infernal  shame!  In- 
sulted one  of  their  colonels,  and  was  quietly  shipped  off. 
Thirty  years  of  his  life  wiped  out.'' 

"  But  he  never  apologized.      Said  he'd  see  him first," 

chorused  the  mess. 

"  Poor  devil!  I  suppose  he  never  had  the  chance  after- 
ward.     How  did  he  come  here?  "  said  the  colonel. 

The  dingy  heap  in  the  chair  could  give  no  answer. 


192  THE   MAN  WHO   WAS, 

*'  Do  you  know  who  you  are?  " 

It  laughed  weakly. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  Limmason — Lieutenant  Lim- 
mason,  of  the  White  Hussars?  " 

Swift  as  a  shot  came  the  answer,  in  a  slightly  surprised 
tone,  "Yes,  I'm  Limmason,  of  course."  The  light  died  out 
in  his  eyes,  and  he  collapsed  afresh,  watching  every  motion 
of  Dirkovitch  with  terror.  A  flight  from  Siberia  may  fix  a 
few  elementary  facts  in  the  mind,  but  it  does  not  lead  to 
continuity  of  thought.  The  man  could  not  explain  how, 
hke  a  homing  pigeon,  he  had  found  his  way  to  his  own  old 
mess  again.  Of  what  he  had  suffered  or  seen  he  knew  noth- 
ing. He  cringed  before  Dirkovitch  as  instinctively  as  he 
had  pressed  the  spring  of  the  candlestick,  sought  the  picture 
of  the  drum-horse,  and  answered  to  the  Queen's  toast.  The 
rest  was  a  blank  that  the  dreaded  Russian  tongue  could  only 
in  part  remove.  His  head  bowed  on  his  breast,  and  he 
giggled  and  cowered  alternately. 

The  devil  that  lived  in  the  brandy  prompted  Dirkovitch  at 
this  extremely  inopportune  moment  to  make  a  speech.  He 
rose,  swaying  slightly,  gripped  the  table-edge,  while  his  eyes 
glowed  like  opals,  and  began : 

"  Fellow-soldiers  glorious — true  friends  and  hospitables. 
It  was  an  accident,  and  deplorable — most  deplorable." 
Here  he  smiled  sweetly  all  round  the  mess.  "  But  you  will 
think  of  this  little,  little  thing.  So  little,  is  it  not?  The 
czar!  Posh!  I  slap  my  fingers — I  snap  my  fingers  at  him. 
Do  I  believe  in  him?  No!  But  the  Slav  who  has  done 
nothing,  him  I  believe.  Seventy — how  much? — millions 
that  have  done  nothing — not  one  thing.  Napoleon  was  an 
episode."  He  banged  a  hand  on  the  table.  "  Hear  you, 
old  peoples,  we  have  done  nothing  in  the  world — out  here. 
All  our  work  is  to  do :  and  it  shall  be  done,  old  peoples. 
Get  away!"     He  waved  his  hand  imperiously,  and  pointed 


THE   MAX   WHO   WAS.  193 

to  the  man.  "You  see  him.  He  is  not  good  to  see.  He 
\vas  just  one  little — oh,  so  little — accident,  that  no  one  re- 
membered. Now  he  is  77/^z/.  So  will  you  be,  brother-soldiers 
so  brave — so  will  you  be.  But  you  will  never  come  back. 
You  will  all  go  where  he  is  gone,  or" — he  pointed  to  the 
great  coffin  shadow  on  the  ceiUng,  and  muttering,  "  Seventy 
millions — get  away,  you  old  people,"  fell  asleep. 

"  Sweet,  and  to  the  point,"  said  Little  Mildred.  "  What's 
the  use  of  getting  wrath?  Let's  make  the  poor  devil  com- 
fortable." 

But  that  was  a  matter  suddenly  and  swiftly  taken  from  the 
loving  hands  of  the  White  Hussars.  The  lieutenant  had  re- 
turned only  to  go  away  again  three  days  later,  when  the  wail 
of  the  "  Dead  March  "  and  the  tramp  of  the  squadrons  told 
the  wondering  station,  that  saw  no  gap  in  the  table,  an  officer 
of  the  regiment  had  resigned  his  new-found  commission. 

And  Dirkovitch — bland,  supple,  and  always  genial — went 
away  too  by  a  night  train.  Little  Mildred  and  another  saw 
him  off,  for  he  was  the  guest  of  the  mess,  and  even  had  he 
smitten  the  colonel  with  the  open  hand  the  law  of  the  mess 
allowed  no  relaxation  of  hospitality. 

"  Good-by,  Dirkovitch,  and  a  pleasant  journey,"  said 
Little  Mildred. 

''  Au  revoir,  my  true  friends,"  said  the  Russian. 

"Indeed!     But  we  thought  you  were  going  home?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  will  come  again.  My  friends,  is  that  road 
shut?  "  He  pointed  to  where  the  north  star  burned  over  the 
Khyber  Pass. 

"By  Jove!  I  forgot.  Of  course.  Happy  to  meet  you, 
old  man,  any  time  you  like.  Got  everything  you  want — 
cheroots,  ice,  bedding?  That's  all  right.  Well,  au  7'rjoir^ 
Dirkovitch." 

"  Um,"  said  the  other  man,  as  the  tail-lights  of  the  train 

grew  small.     "  Of — all — the — unmitigated " 

13 


194  THE  MAN  WHO   WAS. 

Little  Mildred  answered  nothing,  but  watched  the  north 
star,  and  hummed  a  selection  from  a  recent  burlesque  that 
had  much  delighted  the  White  Hussars.     It  ran: 

•*  I'm  sorry  for  Mr.  Bluebeard, 
I'm  sorry  to  cause  him  pain; 
But  a  terrible  spree  there's  sure  to  be 
When  he  comes  back  again.** 


A  CONFERENCE   OF  THE 
POWERS. 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS. 


**  Life  liveth  best  in  life,  and  doth  not  roam 

To  other  realms  if  all  be  well  at  home, 
'  Solid  as  ocean  foam,'  quoth  ocean  foam." 

The  room  was  blue  with  the  smoke  of  three  pipes  and  a 
cigar.  The  leave  season  had  opened  in  India,  and  the  first- 
fruits  on  the  Enghsh  side  of  the  water  were  "  Tick  "  Boileau, 
of  the  Forty-fifth  Bengal  Cavalry,  who  called  on  me  after  three 
years'  absence  to  discuss  old  things  which  had  happened. 
Fate,  who  always  does  her  work  handsomely,  sent  up  the 
same  staircase  within  the  same  hour  the  Infant,  fresh  from 
Upper  Burma,  and  he  and  Boileau,  looking  out  of  my  win- 
dow, saw  walking  in  the  street  one  Nevin,  late  in  a  Gurkha 
regiment  and  the  Black  Mountain  expedition.  They  yelled 
to  him  to  come  up,  and  the  whole  street  was  aware  that  they 
desired  him  to  come  up;  and  he  came  up,  and  there  fol- 
lowed pandemonium,  because  we  had  forgathered  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  three  of  us  were  on  a  holiday,  and 
none  of  us  were  twenty-five,  and  all  the  delights  of  all  Lon- 
don lay  waiting  our  pleasure. 

Boileau  took  the  only  other  chair;  and  the  Infant,  by  right 
of  his  bulk,  the  sofa;  and  Nevin,  being  a  little  man.  sat 
cross-legged  on  the  top  of  the  revolving  book-case;  and  we 
all  said,  "  Who'd  ha'  thought  it?"  and  "What  3iTe  you  doing 
here?"  till  speculation  was  exhausted,  and  the  talk  went 
over   to   inevitable   "shop."     Boileau   was    full    of    a    great 


198  A    CONFERENCE    OF    THE   POIVERS. 

scheme  for  securing  military  attacheship  at  St.  Petersburg; 
Nevin  had  hopes  of  the  Staff  College;  and  the  Infant  had 
been  moving  heaven  and  earth  and  the  Horse-guards  for  a 
commission  in  the  Egyptian  army. 

"What's  the  use  o'  that?"  said  Nevin,  twirling  round  on 
the  book-case. 

"Oh,  heaps!  'Course  if  you  get  stuck  with  a  Fellaheen 
regiment  you're  sold,  but  if  you  are  appointed  to  a  Soudanese 
lot  you're  in  clover.  They  are  first-class  fighting  men,  and 
just  think  of  the  eligible  central  position  of  Egyot  in  the  next 
row!" 

This  was  putting  the  match  to  a  magazine.  We  all  began 
to  explain  the  Central-Asian  question  off-hand,  flinging  army 
corps  from  the  Helmund  to  Cashmir  with  more  than  Russian 
recklessness.  Each  of  the  boys  made  for  himself  a  war  to 
his  own  liking,  and  when  we  had  settled  all  the  details  of 
Armageddon,  killed  all  our  senior  officers,  handled  a  division 
apiece,  and  nearly  torn  the  atlas  in  two  in  attempts  to  ex- 
plain our  theories,  Boileau  needs  must  hft  up  his  voice  above 

the  clamor  and  cry,  "Anyhow,  it'll  be  the of  a  row!  " 

in  tones  that  carried  conviction  far  down  the  staircase. 

Entered  unperceived  in  the  smoke  William  the  Silent. 
"  Gen'elman  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  he,  and  disappeared,  leav- 
ing in  his  stead  none  other  than  Mr.  Eustace  Cleever.  Wil- 
liam would  have  introduced  the  dragon  of  Wantley  with 
equal  disregard  of  present  company. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon !  I  didn't  know  that  there  was  any- 
body— with  you.     I " 

But  it  was  not  seemly  to  allow  Mr.  Cleever  to  depart,  for 
he  was  a  great  man.  The  boys  remained  where  they  were, 
because  any  movement  would  block  the  little  room.  Only 
when  they  saw  his  gray  hairs  they  stood  up  on  their  feet,  and 
when  the  Infant  caught  the  name  he  said,  "  Are  you — did 
you  write  that  book  called  'As  it  was  in  the  Beginning? ' " 


A    COXFERENCE   OF    THE   POWERS.  1 99 

Mr,  Cleever  admitted  that  he  had  written  the  book. 

"  Then — then  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the 
Infant,  flushing  pink.  "  I  was  brought  up  in  the  country  you 
wrote  about.  All  my  people  live  there,  and  I  read  the  book 
in  camp  out  in  Burma  on  the  Hlinedatalone,  and  I  knew 
every  stick  and  stone,  and  the  dialect,  too;  and,  by  Jove! 
it  was  just  like  being  at  home  and  hearing  the  country  people 
talk.  Nevin,  you  know  *  As  it  was  in  the  Beginning?'  So 
does  Ti — Boileau." 

Ivlr.  Cleever  has  tasted  as  much  praise,  public  and  private, 
as  one  man  may  safely  swallow,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  outspoken  admiration  in  the  Infant's  eyes  and  the  little 
stir  in  the  little  company  came  home  to  him  very  nearly  in- 
deed. 

"  Won't  you  take  the  sofa?  "  said  the  Infant.     "  Til  sit  on 

Boileau's  chair,  and "     Here  he  looked  at  me  to  spur  me 

to  my  duties  as  a  host,  but  I  was  watching  the  novelist's 
face.  Cleever  had  not  the  least  intention  of  going  away,  but 
settled  himself  on  the  sofa.  Following  the  first  great  law  of 
the  Army,  which  says,  "  All  property  is  common  except 
money,  and  you've  only  got  to  ask  the  next  man  for  that,' ' 
the  Infant  offered  tobacco  and  drink.  It  was  the  least  he 
could  do,  but  not  four  columns  of  the  finest  review  in  the 
world  held  half  as  much  appreciation  and  reverence  as  the 
Infant's  simple,  "  Say  when,  sir,"  above  the  long  glass. 

Cleever  said  "when,"  and  more  thereto,  for  he  was  a 
golden  talker,  and  he  sat  in  the  midst  of  hero-worship  devoid 
of  all  taint  of  self-interest.  The  boys  asked  him  of  the  birth 
of  his  book,  and  whether  it  was  hard  to  write,  and  how  his 
notions  came  to  him,  and  he  answered  with  the  same  abso- 
lute simplicity  as  he  was  questioned.  His  big  eyes  twinkled, 
he  dug  his  long,  thin  hands  into  his  gray  beard,  and  tugged 
it  as  he  grew  animated  and  dropped  little  by  little  from  the 
peculiar   pinching  of    the   broader  vowels — the    indefinable 


200  A    CONFEREXCE    OF    THE   POWERS. 

"  euh  "  that  runs  through  the  speech  of  the  pundit  caste — 
and  the  elaborate  choice  of  words  to  freely  mouthed  ows  and 
ois,  and  for  him,  at  least,  unfettered  colloquialisms.  He 
could  not  altogether  understand  the  boys  who  hung  upon  his 
words  so  reverently.  The  line  of  the  chin-strap  that  still 
showed  white  and  untanned  on  cheek-bone  and  jaw,  the 
steadfast  young  eyes  puckered  at  the  corners  of  the  lids  with 
much  staring  through  red-hot  sunshine,  the  deep,  troubled 
breathing,  and  the  curious  crisp,  curt  speech  seemed  to  puzzle 
him  equally.  He  could  create  men  and  women,  and  send 
them  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth  to  help,  delight,  and 
comfort ;  he  knew  every  mood  of  the  fields  and  could  inter- 
pret them  to  the  cities;  and  he  knew  the  hearts  of  many  in 
the  city  and  country;  but  he  had  hardly  in  forty  years  come 
into  contact  with  the  thing  which  is  called  a  Subaltern  of  the 
Line.     He  told  the  boys  this. 

"  Well,  how  should  you?  "  said  the  Infant.  "  You — you're 
quite  different,  y'  see,  sir." 

The  Infant  expressed  his  ideas  in  his  tone  rather  than  his 
words,  and  Cleever  understood  the  compliments. 

"We're  only  subs,"  said  Nevin,  "and  we  aren't  exactly 
the  sort  of  men  you'd  meet  much  in  your  life,  I  s'pose." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Cleever,  "  I  live  chiefly  among  those 
who  write  and  paint  and  sculp  and  so  forth.  We  have  our 
own  talk  and  our  own  interests,  and  the  outer  world  doesn't 
trouble  us  much." 

"That  must  be  awf'ly  jolly,"  said  Boileau,  at  a  venture. 
"  We  have  our  own  shop,  too,  but  'tisn't  half  as  interesting 
as  yours,  of  course.  You  know  all  the  men  who've  ever  done 
anything,  and  we  only  knock  about  from  place  to  place,  and 
we  do  nothing." 

"  The  army's  a  very  lazy  profession,  if  you  choose  to 
make  it  so,"  said  Nevin.  "  When  there's  nothing  going  on, 
there  is  nothing  going  on,  and  you  He  up." 


A    COXFERENCE   OF    THE   POWERS.  201 

"  Or  try  to  get  a  billet  somewhere  so  as  to  be  ready  for 
the  next  show,"  said  the  Infant,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  To  me,"  said  Cleever  softly,  "  the  whole  idea  of  war^ 
fare  seems  so  foreign  and  unnatural — so  essentially  vulgar, 
if  I  may  say  so — that  I  can  hardly  appreciate  your  sensa- 
tions. Of  course,  though,  any  change  from  idling  in  garri- 
son towns  must  be  a  godsend  to  you." 

Like  not  a  few  home-staying  Englishmen,  Cleever  be- 
lieved that  the  newspaper  phrase  he  quoted  covered  the 
whole  dutv  of  the  army  Avhose  toil  enabled  him  to  enjoy  his 
many-sided  life  in  peace.  The  remark  was  not  a  happy  one, 
for  Boileau  had  just  come  otf  the  Indian  Frontier,  the  Infant 
had  been  on  the  war-path  for  nearly  eighteen  months,  and  the 
little  red  man,  Nevin,  tvv'o  months  before  had  been  sleeping 
under  the  stars  at  the  peril  of  his  life.  But  none  of  them 
tried  to  explain  till  I  ventured  to  point  out  that  they  had  all 
seen  service,  and  were  not  used  to  idling.  Cleever  took  in 
the  idea  slowly. 

"Seen  service?"  said  he.  Then,  as  a  child  might  ask, 
"  Tell  me — tell  me  everything  about  everything." 

"How  do  you  mean,  sir?"  said  the  Infant,  delighted  at 
being  directly  appealed  to  by  the  great  man. 

"  Good  heavens!  how  am  I  to  make  you  understand  if  you 
can't  see?     In  the  first  place,  v,-hat  is  your  age?  " 

"Twenty-three  next  July,"  said  the  Infant  promptly. 

Cleever  questioned  the  others  with  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  twenty-four,"  said  Nevin. 

"  I'm  twenty-two,"  said   Boileau. 

"And  you've  all  seen  service?" 

"  We've  all  knocked  about  a  little  bit,  sir,  but  the  Infant's 
the  war-worn  veteran.  He's  had  two  years'  work  in  T^{)per 
Burma,"  said  Nevin. 

"When  you  say  work,  what  do  you  mean,  you  extraordi- 
narv  creatures?  " 


202  A    CONFERENCE   OF   THE  POWERS. 

"Explain  it,  Infant,"  said  Nevin. 

"  Oh,  keeping  things  in  order  generally,  and  running  about 
after  little  dakus — that's  Dacoits — and  so  on.  There's  noth- 
ing to  explain." 

"  Make  that  young  leviathan  speak,"  said  Cleever  impa- 
tiently. 

"How  can  he  speak?"  said  I.  "He's  done  the  work. 
The  two  don't  go  together.  But,  Infant,  you  are  requested 
to  bukhy 

"What  about?     I'll  try." 

"  Bukh  about  a  daur.  You've  been  on  heaps  of  'em," 
isaid  Nevin. 

"What  in  the  world  does  that  mean?  Has  the  army  a 
language  of  its  own?  " 

The  Infant  turned  very  red.  He  was  afraid  he  was  being 
laughed  at,  and  he  detested  talking  before  outsiders;  but 
it  was  the  author  of  "As  it  was  in  the  Beginning"  who 
waited. 

"  It's  all  so  new  to  me,"  pleaded  Cleever.  "  And — and 
you  said  you  liked  my  book." 

This  was  a  direct  appeal  that  the  Infant  could  under- 
stand. He  began,  rather  flurriedly,  with  "  Pull  me  up,  sir, 
if  I  say  anything  you  don't  follow.  'Bout  six  months  before 
I  took  my  leave  out  of  Burma  I  was  on  the  Hlinedatalone 
up  near  the  Shan  states  with  sixty  Tommies— private  soldiers, 
that  is — and  another  subaltern,  a  year  senior  to  me.  The 
Burmese  business  was  a  subaltern's  war,  and  our  forces  were 
split  up  into  little  detachments,  all  running  about  the  coun- 
try and  trying  to  keep  the  Dacoits  quiet.  The  Dacoits  were 
having  a  first-class  time,  y'  know — filling  women  up  with 
kerosene  and  setting  'em  aHght,  and  burning  villages,  and 
crucifying  people." 

The  wonder  in  Eustace  Cleever's  eyes  deepened.  He 
disbelieved  wholly  in  a  book  which  describes  crucifixion  at 


A    CONFERENCE    OF    THE   POWERS.  203 

length,  and  he  could  not  quite  reah"ze  that  the  custom  still 
existed. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  crucifixion?  "  said  he. 

"Of  course  not.  Shouldn't  have  allowed  it  if  I  had.  But 
Tve  seen  the  corpses.  The  Dacoits  had  a  nice  trick  of  send- 
ing a  crucified  corpse  down  the  river  on  a  raft,  just  to  show 
they  were  keeping  their  tail  up  and  enjoying  themselves. 
Well,  that  was  the  kind  of  people  I  had  to  deal  with." 

"Alone?"  said  Cleever.  Solitude  of  the  soul  he  knew — 
none  better;  but  he  had  never  been  ten  miles  away  from  his 
fellow-men  in  his  life. 

"  I  had  my  men,  but  the  rest  of  it  was  pretty  much  alone. 
The  nearest  military  post  that  could  give  me  orders  was 
fifteen  miles  away,  and  we  used  to  heliograph  to  them,  and 
they  used  to  give  us  orders  same  way.     Too  many  orders." 

"Who  was  your  C.  O.?  "  said  Boileau. 

"Bounderby.  Major.  /^^//^/^^  Boun derby.  More  Bounder 
than  pukka.  He  went  on  up  Bhamo  way.  Shot  or  cut 
down  last  year,"  said  the  Infant. 

"What  mean  these  interludes  in  a  strange  tongue?"  said 
Cleever  to  me. 

"  Professional  information,  like  the  Mississippi  pilots'  talk. 
He  did  not  approve  of  his  major,  who  has  since  died  a 
violent  death,"  said  I.     "Go  on.  Infant." 

"Far  too  many  orders.  You  couldn't  take  the  Tommies 
out  for  a  two-days'  daur — that  means  expedition,  sir — with- 
out being  blown  up  for  not  asking  leave.  And  the  whole 
country  was  humming  with  Dacoits.  I  used  to  send  out 
spies  and  act  on  their  information.  As  soon  as  a  man  came 
in  and  told  me  of  a  gang  in  hiding,  I'd  take  thirty  men,  with 
some  grub,  and  go  out  and  look  for  them,  while  the  other 
subaltern  lay  doggo  in  camp." 

"Lay?     Pardon  me,  but  how  did  he  lie?  "  said  Cleever. 

"  Lay    doggo.     Lay    quiet    with    the    other    thirty   men. 


2  04  A    COXFERENCE    OF    THE   POWERS. 

When  I  came  back,  he'd  take  out  his  half  of  the  command, 
and  have  a  good  time  of  his  own." 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Boileau. 

"  Carter-Deecey,  of  the  Aurungabadis.  Good  chap,  but 
too  zubberdiisty,  and  went  bokhar  four  days  out  of  seven. 
He's  gone  out,  too.     Don't  interrupt  a  man." 

Cleever  looked  helplessly  at  me. 

"The  other  subaltern,"  I  translated  swiftly,  "came  from 
a  native  regiment  and  was  overbearing  in  his  demeanor. 
He  suffered  much  from  the  fever  of  the  country  and  is  now 
dead.     Go  on,  Infant." 

"  After  a  bit  we  got  into  trouble  for  using  the  men  on  friv- 
olous occasions,  and  so  I  used  to  put  my  signaller  under  ar- 
rest to  prevent  him  reading  the  helio  orders.  Then  I'd  go 
out,  and  leave  a  message  to  be  sent  an  hour  after  I  got  clear 
of  the  camp;  something  like  this:  'Received  important  in- 
formation; start  in  an  hour,  unless  countermanded.'  If  I 
was  ordered  back,  it  didn't  much  matter.  I  swore  that  the  C. 
O.'s  watch  was  wrong,  or  something,  when  I  came  back.  The 
Tommies  enjoyed  the  fun,  and — oh,  yes — there  was  one 
Tommy  who  was  the  bard  of  the  detachment.  He  used  to 
make  up  verses  on  everything  that  happened." 

"What  sort  of  verses?"  said  Cleever. 

"  Lovely  verses ;  and  the  Tommies  used  to  sing  'em. 
There  was  one  song  with  a  chorus,  and  it  said  something 
like  this."  The  Infant  dropped  into  the  barrack-room 
twang. 

"  '  Theebau,  the  Burma  king,  did  a  very  foolish  thing 
When  'e  mustered  'ostile  forces  in  ar-rai. 
'E  littul  thought  that  we,  from  far  across  the  sea, 
Would  send  our  armies  up  to  Mandalai! '  " 

"Oh,  gorgeous!  "  said  Cleever.  "And  how  magnificently 
direct!  The  notion  of  a  regimental  bard  is  new  to  me. 
It's  epic." 


A    CONFERESCE    OF    THE   FOIVERS.  205 

"  He  was  avvf  ly  popular  with  the  men,"  said  the  Infant. 
'*  He  had  them  all  down  in  rhyme  as  soon  as  ever  they  had 
done  anything.  He  was  a  great  bard.  He  was  always  on 
time  with  a  eulogy  when  we  picked  up  a  Boh — that's  a  leader 
of  Dacoits.'' 

"  How  did  you  pick  him  up?  "  said  Cleever. 

"  Oh,  shot  him  if  he  wouldn't  surrender." 

"  You!     Have  you  shot  a  man?  " 

There  was  a  subdued  chuckle  from  all  three,  and  it 
dawned  on  the  questioner  that  one  experience  in  life  which 
was  denied  to  himself — and  he  weighed  the  souls  of  men  in 
a  balance — had  been  shared  by  three  very  young  gentlemen 
of  engaging  appearance.  He  turned  round  on  Nevin,  who 
had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  book-case  and  was  sitting 
cross-legged  as  before. 

"  And  have  j/^z/,  too?  " 

"  Think  so,"  said  Nevin  sweetly.  "  In  the  Black  Moun- 
tain, sir.  He  was  rolling  cliffs  on  to  my  half-company  and 
spoiling  our  formation.  I  took  a  rifle  from  a  man  and 
brought  him  down  at  the  second  shot." 

"  Good  heavens!     And  how  did  you  feel  afterward?  " 

"  Thirsty.     I  wanted  a  smoke,  too." 

Cleever  looked  at  Boileau,  the  youngest.  Surely  his 
hands  were  guiltless  of  blood.  Boileau  shook  his  head  and 
laughed.     "  Go  on.  Infant,"  said  he. 

"  And  you,  too?  "  said  Cleever. 

"  Fancy  so.  It  was  a  case  of  cut — cut  or  be  cut — with  me, 
so  I  cut  at  one.     I  couldn't  do  any  more,  sir,"  said  Boileau. 

Cleever  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to  ask  many  ques- 
tions, but  the  Infant  swept  on  in  the  full  tide  of  his  tale. 

"  Well,  we  were  called  insubordinate  young  whelps  at  last, 
and  strictly  forbidden  to  take  the  Tommies  out  any  more 
without  orders.  I  wasn't  sorry,  because  Tommy  is  such  an 
exacting  sort  of  creature,  though  he  works  beautifully.     He 


2o6  A    CONFERENCE    OF    THE  POWERS. 

wants  to  live  as  though  he  were  in  barracks  all  the  time.  I 
was  grubbing  on  fowls  and  boiled  corn,  but  the  Tommies 
wanted  their  pound  of  fresh  meat,  and  their  half-ounce  of 
this,  and  their  two  ounces  of  t'other  thing,  and  they  used  to 
come  to  me  and  badger  me  for  plug  tobacco  when  we  were 
four  days  in  jungle!  I  said,  '  I  can  get  you  Burma  tobacco, 
but  I  don't  keep  a  canteen  up  my  sleeve.'  They  couldn't 
see  it.  They  wanted  all  the  luxuries  of  the  season,  con- 
found 'em! " 

"  You  were  alone  when  you  were  dealing  with  these  men?  " 
said  Cleever,  watching  the  Infant's  face  under  the  palm  of 
his  hand.  He  was  receiving  new  ideas,  and  they  seemed  to 
trouble  him. 

"  Of  course.  TJnless  you  count  the  mosquitoes.  They 
were  nearly  as  big  as  the  men.  After  I  had  to  lie  doggo  I 
began  to  look  for  something  to  do,  and  I  was  great  pals  with 
a  man  called  Hicksey,  in  the  Burma  poHce.  The  best  man 
that  ever  stepped  on  earth;  a  first-class  man." 

Cleever  nodded  applause.  He  knew  something  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  Hicksey  and  I  were  as  thick  as  thieves.  He  had  some 
Burma  mounted  police — nippy  little  chaps,  armed  with 
sword  and  Snider  carbine.  They  rode  punchy  Burma  ponies, 
with  string  stirrups,  red  cloth  saddles,  and  red  bell-rope 
headstalls.  Hicksey  used  to  lend  me  six  or  eight  of  them 
when  I  asked  him — nippy  little  devils,  keen  as  mustard. 
But  they  told  their  wives  too  much,  and  all  my  plans  got 
known,  till  I  learned  to  give  false  marching  orders  overnight, 
and  take  the  men  to  quite  a  different  village  in  the  morning. 
Then  we  used  to  catch  the  simple  dakus  before  breakfast,  and 
make  them  very  sick.  It's  a  ghastly  country  on  the  Hline- 
datalone;  all  bamboo  jungle,  with  paths  about  four  feet 
wide  winding  through  it.  The  dakus  knew  all  the  paths,  and 
used   to  pot   at   us   as   we   came   round   a  corner;  but   the 


A    CONFERENCE   OF    THE   POWERS.  207 

mounted  police  knew  the  paths  as  well  as  the  dakiis,  and  we 
used  to  go  stalking  'em  in  and  out  among  the  paths.  Once 
we  flushed  'em — the  men  on  the  ponies  had  the  pull  of  the 
man  on  foot.  We  held  all  the  country  absolutely  quiet  for 
ten  miles  round  in  about  a  month.  Then  we  took  Boh  Na- 
ghee — Hicksey  and  I  and  the  civil  officer.  That  was  a 
lark!" 

"  I  think  I  am  beginning  to  understand  a  little,"  said 
Cleever.  "  It  was  a  pleasure  to  you  to  administer  and  fight, 
and  so  on." 

"  Rather.  There's  nothing  nicer  than  a  satisfactory  little 
expedition,  when  you  find  all  your  plans  fit  together  and  your 
conformations  teek — correct,  you  know — and  the  whole  sub- 

chiz 1  mean  when  everything  works  out  like  formulae  on  a 

blackboard.  Hicksey  had  all  the  information  about  the  Boh. 
He  had  been  burning  villages  and  murdering  people  right 
and  left,  and  cutting  up  government  convoys,  and  all  that. 
He  was  lying  doggo  in  a  village  about  fifteen  miles  off,  wait- 
ing to  get  a  fresh  gang  together.  So  we  arranged  to  take 
thirty  mounted  police,  and  turn  him  out  before  he  could 
plunder  into  the  newly  settled  villages.  At  the  last  minute 
the  civil  officer  in  our  part  of  the  world  thought  he'd  assist 
in  the  performance." 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Nevin. 

"His  name  was  Dennis,"  said  the  Infant  slowly;  "and 
we'll  let  it  stay  so.  He's  a  better  man  now  than  he  was 
then." 

"  But  how  old  was  the  civil  power?  "  said  Cleever.  "  The 
situation  is  developing  itself.''  Then,  in  his  beard,  "  Who 
are  you,  to  judge  men?" 

"He  was  about  six-and-twenty,"  said  the  Infant;  "and 
he  was  awf  ly  clever.  He  knew  a  lot  of  literary  thmgs,  but 
I  don't  think  he  was  quite  steady  enough  for  Dacoit-hunt- 
ing.     We  started  overnight  for  Boh  Na-ghce's  village,  and  we 


2o8  A    COXFERENCE   OF    THE   POWERS. 

got  there  just  before  the  morning,  without  raising  an  alarm. 
Dennis  had  turned  out  armed  to  the  teeth — two  revolvers,  a 
carbine,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  was  talking  to  Hicksey 
about  posting  our  men,  and  Dennis  edged  his  pony  in  be- 
tween us  and  said,  'What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do? 
Tell  me  what  to  do,  you  fellows.'  We  didn't  take  much 
notice,  but  his  pony  tried  to  bite  me  in  the  leg,  and  I  said, 
*  Pull  out  a  bit,  old  man,  till  we've  settled  the  attack.'  He 
kept  edging  in,  and  fiddling  with  his  reins  and  the  revolvers, 
and  saying,  '  Dear  me !  dear  me !  Oh,  dear  me !  What  do 
you  think  I'd  better  do? '  The  man  was  in  a  blue  funk  and 
his  teeth  were  chattering." 

"  I  sympathize  with  the  civil  power,"  said  Cleever.  "  Con- 
tinue, young  Clive." 

"  The  fun  of  it  was  that  he  was  supposed  to  be  our  su- 
perior officer.  Hicksey  took  a  good  look  at  him,  and  told 
him  to  attach  himself  to  my  party.  Beastly  mean  of  Hick- 
sey, that.  The  chap  kept  on  edging  in  and  bothering  instead 
of  asking  for  some  men  and  taking  up  his  own  position,  till 
I  got  angry.  The  carbines  began  popping  on  the  other  side 
of  the  village.  Then  I  said,  '  For  God's  sake,  be  quiet,  and 
sit  down  where  you  are!  If  you  see  anybody  come  out  of 
the  village,  shoot  at  him.'  I  knew  he  couldn'  hit  a  hayrick 
at  a  yard.  Then  I  took  my  men  over  the  garden  wall — over 
the  pahsades,  y'  know — somehow  or  other,  and  the  fun  be- 
gan. Hicksey  had  found  the  Boh  in  bed  under  a  mosquito 
curtain,  and  he  had  taken  a  flying  jump  on  to  him." 

"A  flying  jump!  "  said  Cleever.     "  Is  that,  also,  war?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Infant,  now  thoroughly  warmed.  "  Don't 
you  know  how  you  take  a  flying  jump  on  to  a  fellow's  head 
at  school  when  he  snores  in  the  dormitory?  The  Boh  was 
sleeping  in  a  regular  bedful  of  swords  and  pistols,  and  Hick- 
sey came  down  a  la  Zazel  through  the  netting,  and  the  net 
^ot  mixed  up  with  the  pistols  and  the  Boh  and  Hicksey,  and 


A    COXFEREXCE    OF    THE   POWERS.  209 

they  all  rolled  on  the  floor  together.  I  laughed  till  I  couldn't 
stand,  and  Hicksey  was  cursing  me  for  not  helping  him,  so  I 
left  him  to  fight  it  out  and  went  into  the  village.  Our  men 
were  slashing  about  and  firing,  and  so  were  the  Dacoits,  and 
in  the  thick  of  the  mess  some  ass  set  fire  to  a  house,  and  we 
all  had  to  clear  out.  I  froze  on  to  the  nearest  daku  and  ran 
to  the  palisade,  shoving  him  in  front  of  me.  He  wriggled 
clear  and  bounded  over  to  the  other  side.  I  came  after 
him,  but  when  I  had  one  leg  one  side  and  one  leg  the  other 
of  the  palisade,  I  saw  that  my  friend  had  fallen  fiat  on  Den- 
nis' head.  That  man  had  never  moved  from  where  I  left 
him.  The  two  rolled  on  the  ground  together,  and  Dennis' 
carbine  went  off  and  nearly  shot  me.  The  daku  picked  him- 
self up  and  ran,  and  Dennis  heaved  his  carbine  after  him, 
and  it  caught  him  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  knocked  him 
silly.  You  never  saw  anything  so  funny  in  your  life.  I 
doubled  up  on  the  top  of  the  palisade  and  hung  there,  yell- 
ing with  laughter.  But  Dennis  began  to  weep  like  anything. 
*  Oh,  I've  killed  a  man! '  he  said — 'I've  killed  a  man,  and 
I  shall  never  know  another  peaceful  hour  in  my  life!  Is  he 
dead?  Oh,  is  he  dead?  Good  God!  I've  killed  a  man!' 
I  came  down  and  said,  '  Don't  be  a  fool! '  But  he  kept  on 
shouting  'Is  he  dead?'  till  I  could  have  kicked  him.  The 
daku  was  only  knocked  out  of  time  with  the  carbine.  He 
came  to  after  a  bit,  and  I  said,  '  Are  you  hurt  much?  '  He 
grinned  and  said  no.  His  chest  was  all  cut  with  scrambling 
over  the  palisade.  *  The  white  man's  gun  didn't  do  that,'  he 
said.  *  I  did  that  myself,  and  I  knocked  the  white  man 
over.'  Just  like  a  Barman,  wasn't  it?  Dennis  wouldn't  be 
happy  at  any  price.  He  said,  '  Tie  u{)  his  wounds.  He'll 
bleed  to  death.  Oh,  my  God,  he'll  bleed  to  death!'  'Tie 
'em  up  yourself,'  I  said, '  if  you're  so  anxious.'  '  I  can't  touch 
him,'  said  Dennis, 'but  here's  my  shirt.'  He  took  off  his 
^Jiirt,  and  he  fixed  his  braces  again  over  his  bare  shoulders. 
14 


2 TO  A    CONFERENCE    OF    THE   POWERS. 

I  ripped  the  shirt  up  and  bandaged  the  Dacoit  quite  profes- 
sionally. He  was  grinning  at  Dennis  all  the  time;  and 
Dennis'  haversack  was  lying  on  the  ground,  bursting  full  of 
sandwiches.  Greedy  hog!  I  took  some  and  offered  some 
to  Dennis.  *  How  can  I  eat? '  he  said.  '  How  can  you  ask 
me  to  eat?  His  very  blood  is  on  your  hands,  O  God!  and 
you're  eating  my  sandwiches! '  '  All  right,'  I  said.  *  I'll  give 
'em  to  the  daku.''  So  I  did,  and  the  little  chap  was  quite 
pleased  and  wolfed  'em  down  like  one  o'clock." 

Cleever  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table-cloth  a  thump 
that  made  the  empty  glasses  dance.  "  That's  art,"  he  said. 
."Flat,  flagrant  mechanism.  Don't  tell  me  that  happened  on 
the  spot!" 

The  pupils  of  the  Infant's  eyes  contracted  to  pin  points. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  slowly  and  a  little  stiffly,  "  but 
I  am  telling  this  thing  as  it  happened." 

Cleever  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "  My  fault  entirely," 
said  he.     "  I  should  have  known.     Please  go  on." 

"  Oh,  then  Hicksey  came  out  of  what  was  left  of  the  vil- 
lage with  his  prisoners  and  captives  all  neatly  tied  up.  Boh 
Na-ghee  was  first,  and  one  of  the  villagers,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
the  old  ruffian  helpless,  began  kicking  him  quietly.  The  Boh 
stood  it  as  long  as  he  could  and  then  groaned,  and  we  saw 
what  was  going  on.  Hicksey  tied  the  villager  up  and  gave 
him  half  a  dozen  good  ones  to  remind  him  to  leave  a  prisoner 
alone.  You  should  have  seen  the  old  Boh  grin.  Oh,  but 
Hicksey  was  in  a  furious  rage  with  everybody.  He'd  got  a 
wipe  over  the  elbow  that  had  tickled  up  his  funny-bone,  and 
he  was  simply  rabid  with  me  for  not  having  helped  him  with 
the  Boh  and  the  mosquito  net.  I  had  to  explain  that  I 
couldn't  do  anything.  If  you'd  seen  'em  both  tangled  up  to- 
gether on  the  floor,  like  a  blaspheming  cocoon,  you'd  have 
laughed  for  a  week.  Hicksey  swore  tliat  the  only  decent 
man  of  his  acquaintance  was  the  Boh,  and  all  the  way  back 


A    CONFERENCE   OF    THE   POWERS.  211 

to  camp  Hicksey  was  talking  to  him,  and  the  Boh  was  grum- 
bimg  about  the  soreness  of  his  bones.  When  we  got  home  and 
had  had  a  bath,  the  Boh  wanted  to  know  when  he  was  going 
to  be  hanged.  Hicksey  said  he  couldn't  oblige  him  on  the 
spot,  but  had  to  send  him  to  Rangoon.  The  Boh  went 
down  on  his  knees  and  reeled  off  a  catalogue  of  his  crimes 
— he  ought  to  have  been  hanged  seventeen  times  over  by  his 
own  confession — and  implored  Hicksey  to  settle  the  business 
out  of  hand.  '  If  I'm  sent  to  Rangoon,'  said  he,  *  they'll  keep 
me  in  jail  all  my  life,  and  that  is  a  death  every  time  the  sun 
gets  up  or  the  wind  blows.'  But  we  had  to  send  him  to 
Rangoon;  and,  of  course,  he  was  let  off  down  there  and 
given  penal  servitude  for  life.  When  I  came  to  Rangoon  I 
went  over  the  jail— I  had  helped  to  fill  it,  y'  know — and  the 
old  Boh  was  there  and  recognized  me  at  once.  He  begged 
for  some  opium  first,  and  I  tried  to  get  him  some;  but  that 
was  against  the  rules.  Then  he  asked  me  to  have  his  sen- 
tence changed  to  death,  because  he  was  afraid  of  being  sent 
to  the  Andamans.  I  couldn't  do  that,  either;  but  I  tried  to 
cheer  him,  and  told  him  how  the  row  was  going  up  country. 
And  the  last  thing  he  said  was,  '  Give  my  compliments  to  the 
fat  white  man  who  jumped  on  me.  If  I'd  been  awake  I'd 
have  killed  him.'  I  wrote  that  to  Hicksey  next  mail,  and — 
and  that's  all.      I'm  'fraid  I've  been  gassing  awf'ly,  sir." 

Cleever  said  nothing  for  a  long  time.  The  Infant  looked 
uncomfortable.  He  feared  that,  misled  by  enthusiasm,  he 
had  filled  up  the  novelist's  time  with  unprofitable  recital  of 
trivial  anecdotes. 

Then  said  Cleever,  "  I  can't  understand  it.  Why  should 
you  have  seen  and  done  all  these  things  before  you  have  cut 
your  wisdom-teeth?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  the  Infant  apologetically.  "  I  haven't 
seen  much — only  Burmese  jungle." 

"And  dead  men  and  war  and  power  and  responsibility," 


212  A    CONFERENCE   OF   THE   POWERS. 

said  Cleever,  under  his  breath.  "  You  won't  have  any  sen- 
sations left  at  thirty  if  you  go  on  as  you  have  done.  But  I 
want  to  hear  more  tales — more  tales."  He  seemed  to  forget 
that  even  subalterns  might  have  engagements  of  their  own. 

"  We're  thinking  of  dining  out  somewhere,  the  lot  of  us, 
and  going  on  to  the  Empire  afterward,"  said  Nevin,  with 
hesitation.  He  did  not  like  to  ask  Cleever  to  come  too. 
The  invitation  might  be  regarded  as  "  cheek."  And  Cleever, 
anxious  not  to  wag  a  gray  beard  unbidden  among  boys  at 
large,  said  nothing  on  his  side. 

Boileau  solved  the  little  difficulty  by  blurting  out,  "  Won't 
you  come  too,  sir?" 

Cleever  almost  shouted  "  Yes,"  and  while  he  was  being 
helped  into  his  coat,  continued  to  murmur  "  Good  heavens!  " 
at  intervals,  in  a  manner  that  the  boys  could  not  understand. 

"  I  don't  think  I've  been  to  the  Empire  in  my  Hfe,"  said 
he.  "But,  good  heavens!  what  is  my  life,  after  all?  Let  us 
go  back." 

So  they  went  out  with  Eustace  Cleever,  and  I  sulked  at 
home,  because  the  boys  had  come  to  see  me,  but  had  gone 
over  to  the  better  man,  which  was  humiliating.  They 
packed  him  into  a  cab  with  utmost  reverence,  for  was  he  not 
the  author  of  "  As  it  was  in  the  Beginning,"  and  a  person  in 
whose  company  it  was  an  honor  to  go  abroad?  From  all  I 
gathered  later,  he  had  taken  less  interest  in  the  performance 
before  him  than  in  the  boys'  conversation,  and  they  protested 
with  emphasis  that  he  was  "  as  good  a  man  as  they  make, 
knew  what  a  man  was  driving  at  almost  before  he  said  it,  and 
yet  he's  so  dashed  simple  about  things  any  man  knows." 
That  was  one  of  many  comments  made  afterward. 

At  midnight  they  returned,  announcing  that  they  were 
Highly  Respectable  Gondoliers,  and  that  oysters  and  stout 
were  what  they  chiefly  needed.  The  eminent  novelist  was 
still  with  them,  and  I  think  he  was  calling  them   by  their 


A    COXFEREXCE    OF    THE   POWERS.  213 

shorter  names  I  am  certain  that  he  said  lie  had  been  mov- 
ing in  worlds  r.ot  realized,  and  that  they  had  shown  him  the 
Empire  in  a  new  light.  Still  sore  at  recent  neglect,  I  answered 
shortly,  "  Thank  Heaven,  we  have  within  the  land  ten  thou- 
sand as  good  as  they!  "  ;  and  when  Cleever  departed,  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  things  generally. 

He  replied  with  another  quotation,  to  the  effect  that 
though  singing  was  a  remarkably  fine  performance,  I  was  to 
be  quite  sure  that  few  lips  would  be  moved  to  song  if  they 
could  find  a  sufficiency  of  kissing. 

Whereat  I  understood  that  Eustace  Cleever,  decorator 
and  color  man  in  words,  was  blaspheming  his  own  art,  and 
that  he  would  be  lorry  for  this  in  the  morning. 


ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 


ON  GREENHOW  HILL 


"  Ohi  ahmed  din  /  Shajiz  Ullah  ahoo!  Bahadur  Khan, 
where  are  you?  Come  out  of  the  tents,  as  I  have  done,  and 
fight  against  the  EngHsh.  Don't  kill  your  own  kin!  Come 
out  to  me!  " 

The  deserter  from  a  native  corps  was  crawling  round  the 
outskirts  of  the  camp,  firing  at  intervals,  and  shouting  invi- 
tations to  his  old  comrades.  Misled  by  the  rain  and  the 
darkness,  he  came  to  the  English  wing  of  the  camp,  and  with 
his  yelping  and  rifle  practice  disturbed  the  men.  They  had 
been  making  roads  all  day  and  were  tired. 

Ortheris  was  sleeping  at  Learoyd's  feet.  "  Wot's  all  that?  " 
he  said  thickly.  Learoyd  snored,  and  a  Snider  bullet  ripped 
its  way  through  the  tent  wall.  The  men  swore.  "  It's  that 
bloomin'  deserter  from  the  Aurangabadis,"  said  Ortheris. 
"  Git  up,  some  one,  an'  tell  'em  'e's  come  to  the  wrong  shop." 

"  Go  to  sleep,  little  man,"  said  Mulvaney,  who  was  steam- 
ing nearest  the  door.  "  I  can't  rise  an'  expaytiate  with  him. 
'Tis  rainin'  entrenchin'  tools  outside." 

"'Tain't  because  you  bloomin'  can't.  It's  'cause  you 
bloomin'  won't,  ye  long,  limp,  lousy,  lazy  beggar,  you.  'Ark 
to  'im  'ovvlin'!  " 

"Wot's  the  good  of  argifying?  Put  a  bullet  into  the 
swine!     "E's  keepin'  us  awake!  "  said  another  voice. 

A  subaltern  shouted  angrily,  and  a  dripping  sentry  whined 
from  the  darkness: 


2i8  ON  GREENHOIV  HILL. 

"  'Tain't  no  good,  sir.  I  can't  see  "im.  'E's  'idin'  some- 
where down  'ill." 

Ortheris  tumbled  out  of  his  blanket.  "  Shall  I  try  to  get 
'im,  sir?  "  said  he. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer;  "  lie  down.  I  won't  have  the  whole 
camp  shooting  all  round  the  clock.  Tell  him  to  go  and  pot 
his  friends." 

Ortheris  considered  for  a  moment.  Then,  putting  his 
head  under  the  tent  wall,  he  called,  as  a  'bus  conductor  calls 
in  a  block,  "  'Igher  up,  there!     'Igher  up!  " 

The  men  laughed,  and  the  laughter  was  carried  down  wind 
to  the  deserter,  who,  hearing  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
went  off  to  worry  his  own  regiment  half  a  mile  away.  He 
was  received  with  shots,  for  the  Aurangabadis  were  very 
angry  with  him  for  disgracing  their  colors. 

"An'  that's  all  right,"  said  Ortheris,  withdrawing  his  head 
as  he  heard  the  hiccough  of  the  Sniders  in  the  distance. 
"S'elp  me  Gawd,  the',  that  man's  not  fit  to  live — messin' 
with  my  beauty  sleep  this  way." 

"  Go  out  and  shoot  him  in  the  morning,  then,"  said  the 
subaltern  incautiously.  "Silence  in  the  tents  now.  Get 
your  rest,  men." 

Ortheris  lay  down  with  a  happy  little  sigh,  and  in  two 
minutes  there  was  no  sound  except  the  rain  on  the  canvas 
and  the  all-embracing  and  elemental  snoring  of  Learoyd. 

The  camp  lay  on  a  bare  ridge  of  the  Himalayas,  and  for 
a  week  had  been  waiting  for  a  flying  column  to  make  con- 
nection. The  nightly  rounds  of  the  deserter  and  his  friends 
had  become  a  nuisance. 

In  the  morning  the  men  dried  themselves  in  hot  sunshine 
and  cleaned  their  grimy  accoutrements.  The  native  regi- 
ment was  to  take  its  turn  of  road-making  that  day  while  the 
Old  Regiment  loafed. 

"  I'm  goin'   to  lay  far  a  shot  at  that  man,"  said   Ortheris, 


OA^   GREEN  HOW  HILL.  219 

when  he  had  finished  washing  out  his  ritle.  "'E  comes  up 
the  watercourse  every  evenin'  about  five  o'clock.  If  we  go 
and  He  out  on  the  north  'ill  a  bit  this  afternoon  well  get  'im.*' 

"  You're  a  bloodthirsty  little  mosquito,"  said  Mulvaney, 
blowing  blue  clouds  into  the  air.  "  But  I  suppose  I  will  have 
to  come  wid  you.     Fwhere's  Jock?  " 

"  Gone  out  with  the  Mi.xed  Pickles,  'cause  'e  thinks  'isself 
a  bloomin'  marksman,"  said  Ortheris  with  scorn. 

The  "  Mixed  Pickles"  were  a  detachment  of  picked  shots, 
generally  employed  in  clearing  spurs  of  hills  when  the  enemy 
were  too  impertinent.  This  taught  the  young  officers  how 
to  handle  men,  and  did  not  do  the  enemy  much  harm. 
Tvlulvaney  and  Ortheris  strolled  out  of  camp,  and  passed  the 
Aurangabadis  going  to  their  road-making. 

"You've  got  to  sweat  to-day,"  said  Ortheris,  genially. 
"  We're  going  to  get  your  man.  You  didn't  knock  'im  out 
last  night  by  any  chance,  any  of  you  ?  " 

"  No.  The  pig  went  away  mocking  us.  I  had  one  shot 
at  him,"  said  a  private.  "  He's  my  cousin,  and  /  ought  to 
have  cleared  our  dishonor.     But  good-luck  to  you." 

They  went  cautiously  to  the  north  hill,  Ortheris  leading, 
because,  as  he  explained,  "this  is  a  long-range  show,  an'  I've 
got  to  do  it."  His  was  an  almost  passionate  devotion  to  his 
rifle,  whom,  by  barrack-room  report  he  was  supposed  to  kiss 
every  night  before  turning  in.  Charges  and  scuffles  he  held 
in  contempt,  and,  when  they  were  inevitable,  slipped  between 
Mulvaney  and  Learoyd,  bidding  them  to  fight  for  his  skin  as 
well  as  their  own.  They  never  failed  him.  He  trotted 
along,  questing  like  a  hound  on  a  broken  trail,  through  the 
wood  of  the  north  hill.  At  last  he  was  satisfied,  and  threw 
himself  down  on  the  soft  pine-needle  slope  that  commanded 
a  clear  view  of  the  watercourse  and  a  brown,  bare  hill-side 
beyond  it.  The  trees  made  a  scented  darkness  in  which  an 
army  corps  could  have  hidden  from  the  sun-glare  without. 


220  ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 


(t  n 


'Ere's  the  tail  o'  the  wood,"  said  Ortheris.  "'E's  got  ^o 
come  up  the  watercourse,  'cause  it  gives  'im  cover.  TVe'U 
lay  'ere.     'Tain't  not  arf  so  bloomin'  dusty  nsither." 

He  buried  his  nose  in  a  clump  ol  scentless  white  violets. 
No  one  had  come  *o  tell  tlie  flowers  that  the  season  of  their 
strength  was  long  past,  and  they  had  bloomed  merrily  in  the 
twilight  of  the  pines. 

"  This  is  something  like,"  he  said  luxuriously.  "  Wot  a 
'evinly  clear  drop  for  a  bullet  acrost.  How  much  d'  you 
make  it,  Mulvaney?  " 

"  Seven  hunder.  Maybe  a  trifle  less,  bekase  the  airs  so 
thin." 

JV(?/>/  7vop!  wop!  went  a  volley  of  musketry  on  the  rear 
face  of  the  north  hill. 

"Curse  them  Mixed  Pickles  firin'  at  nothin'!  They'll 
scare  arf  the  country." 

"Thry  a  sightin'  shot  in  the  middle  of  the  row,"  said  Mul- 
vaney, the  man  of  many  wiles.  "  There's  a  red  rock  yonder 
he'll  be  sure  to  pass.     Quick!  " 

Ortheris  ran  his  sight  up  to  six  hundred  yards  and  fired. 
The  bullet  threw  up  a  feather  of  dust  by  a  clump  of  gentians 
at  the  base  of  the  rock. 

"Good  enough!  "  said  Ortheris,  snapping  the  scale  down. 
"  You  snick  your  sights  to  mine  or  a  little  lower.  You're  al- 
ways firin'  high.  But  remember,  first  shot  to  me.  O  Lordy! 
but  it's  a  lovely  afternoon." 

The  noise  of  the  firing  grew  louder,  and  there  was  a 
tramping  of  men  in  the  wood.  The  two  lay  very  quiet,  for 
they  knew  that  the  British  soldier  is  desperately  prone  to  fire 
at  anything  that  moves  or  calls.  Then  Learoyd  appeared, 
his  tunic  ripped  across  the  breast  by  a  bullet,  looking  ashamed 
of  himself.  He  flung  down  on  the  pine-needles,  breathing  in 
snorts. 

"One  o'  them  damned  gardeners  o'  th'  Pickles,"  said  he, 


ON  GREEN  HOW  HILL.  221 

fingering  the  rent.  "  Firin'  to  th'  right  flank,  when  he 
knowed  I  was  there.  If  I  knew  who  he  was  I'd  'a'  rippen  the 
hide  off  an.     Look  at  ma  tunic  !  " 

"  That's  the  spishil  trustabihty  av  a  marksman.  Train 
him  to  hit  a  fly  wid  a  stiddy  rest  at  seven  hunder,  an'  he 
loose  on  anythin'  he  sees  or  hears  up  to  th'  mile.  You're 
well  out  av  that  fancy-firin'  gang,  Jock.     Stay  here."' 

"Bin  firin'  at  the  bloomin'  wind  in  the  bloom  in'  tree- 
tops,"  said  Ortheris  with  a  chuckle.  "  I'll  show  you  some 
firin'  later  on." 

They  wallowed  in  the  pine-needles,  and  the  sun  warmed 
them  where  they  lay.  The  ]\Iixed  Pickles  ceased  firing  and 
returned  to  camp,  and  left  the  wood  to  a  few  scared  apes. 
The  watercourse  lifted  up  its  voice  in  the  silence  and  talked 
foolishly  to  the  rocks.  Nov/  and  again  the  dull  thump  of  a 
blasting  charge  three  miles  away  told  that  the  Aurangabadis 
were  in  difficulties  with  their  road-making.  The  men  smiled 
as  they  listened  and  lay  still  soaking  in  the  warm  leisure. 
Presently  Learoyd,  between  the  whiffs  of  his  pipe: 

"Seems  queer — about  'im  yonder — desertin'  at  all." 

"'E"ll  be  a  boomin'  side  queerer  when  I've  done  with 
'im,"  said  Ortheris.  They  were  talking  in  whispers,  for  the 
stillness  of  the  wood  and  the  desire  of  slaughter  lay  heavy 
upon  them. 

"I  make  no  doubt  he  had  his  reasons  for  desertin';  but, 
my  faith!  I  make  less  doubt  ivry  man  has  good  reason  for 
killin'  him,"  said  Mulvaney. 

"  Happen  there  was  a  lass  tewed  up  wi'  it.  Men  do  more 
than  more  for  th'  sake  of  a  lass." 

"They  make  most  av  us  'list.  They've  no  manner  av 
right  to  make  us  desert." 

"Ah;  they  make  us  'list,  or  their  fathers  do,"  said  Lea- 
royd softly,  his  helmet  over  his  eyes. 

Ortheris'   brows  contracted  savagely.      He   was    watching 


2  22  O.V  GREEXHOIV  HILL. 

the  valley.  "  If  it's  a  girl  Til  shoot  the  beggar  twice  over, 
an'  second  time  for  bein'  a  fool  You're  blasted  sentimental 
all  of  a  sudden.     Thinkin'  o'  your  last  near  shave?  " 

"Nay,  lad;  ah  was  but  thinkin'  o'  what  had  happened." 

"An'  fwhat  has  happened,  ye  lumberin'  child  av  calamity, 
that  you're  lowing  like  a  cow-calf  at  the  back  av  the  pasture, 
an'  suggestin'  invidious  excuses  for  the  man  Stanley's  goin' 
to  kill.  Ye'll  have  to  wait  another  hour  yet,  Httle  man. 
Spit  it  out,  Jock,  an'  bellow  melojus  to  the  moon.  It  takes 
an  earthquake  or  a  bullet  graze  to  fetch  aught  out  av  you. 
Discourse,  Don  Juan!  The  a-moors  of  Lotharius  Learoyd. 
Stanley,  kape  a  rowlin'  rig'mental  eye  on  the  valley." 

"  It's  along  o'  yon  hill  there,"  said  Learoyd,  watching  the 
bare  sub-Himalayan  spur  that  reminded  him  of  his  Yorkshire 
moors.  He  was  speaking  more  to  himself  than  his  fellows. 
"  Ay,"  said  he ;  "  Rumbolds  Moor  stands  up  ower  Skipton 
town,  an'  Greenhow  Hill  stands  up  over  ower  Pately  Brig. 
I  reckon  you've  never  heeard  tell  o'  Greenhow  Hill,  but  yon 
bit  o'  bare  stuff  if  there  was  nobbut  a  white  road  windin'  is 
like  ut,  strangely  like.  Moors  an'  moors — moors  wi'  never 
a  tree  for  shelter,  an'  gray  houses  wi'  flagstone  rooves,  and 
pewits  cryin',  an'  a  windhover  goin'  to  and  fro  just  like  these 
kites.  And  cold!  a  wind  that  cuts  you  like  a  knife.  You  could 
tell  Greenhow  Hill  folk  by  the  red-apple  color  o'  their  cheeks 
an'  nose  tips,  an'  their  blue  eyes,  driven  into  pin-points  by 
the  wind.  Miners  mostly,  burrowin'  for  lead  i'  th'  hill-sides, 
followin'  the  trail  of  th'  ore  vein  same  as  a  field-rat.  It  was 
the  roughest  minin'  I  ever  seen.  Yo'd  come  on  a  bit  o' 
creakin'  wood  windlass  like  a  well-head,  an'  you  was  let 
down  i'  th'  bight  of  a  rope,  fendin'  yoursen  off  the  side  wi' 
one  hand,  carryin'  a  candle  stuck  in  a  lump  o'  clay  with 
t'other,  an'  clickin'  hold  of  a  rope  with  t'other  hand." 

"  An'  that's  three  of  them,"  said  Mulvaney.  "  Must  be  a 
good  climate  in  those  parts" 


ON   GREEN  HOW  HILL  223 

Learoyd  took  no  heed. 

'*  An'  then  yo'  came  to  a  level,  where  you  crept  on  your 
hands  an'  knees  through  a  mile  o'  windin'  drift,  an'  you 
come  out  into  a  cave-place  as  big  as  Leeds  Town-lrall,  with 
a  engine  pumpin'  water  from  workin's  'at  went  deeper  still. 
It's  a  queer  country,  let  alone  minin',  for  the  hill  is  full  of 
those  natural  caves,  an'  the  rivers  an'  the  becks  drops  into 
what  they  call  pot-holes  an'  come  out  again  miles  away.' 

"  Wot  was  you  doin'  there?  "  said  Ortheris. 

"  I  was  a  young  chap  then,  an'  mostly  went  wi'  osses,  lead- 
in'  coal  and  lead  ore;  but  at  th'  time  I'm  tellin'  on  I  was 
drivin'  the  wagon  team  i'  the  big  sumph.  I  didn't  belong 
to  that  country-side  by  rights.  I  went  there  because  of  a 
little  difference  at  home,  an'  at  fust  I  took  up  wi'  a  rough  lot. 
One  night  we'd  been  drinkin',  an'  I  must  ha'  hed  more  than 
I  could  stand,  or  happen  th'  ale  was  none  so  good.  Though 
i'  them  days,  by  for  God,  I  never  seed  bad  ale."  He  flung 
his  arms  over  his  head  and  gripped  a  vast  handful  of  white 
violets.  "Nah,"  said  he,  "I  never  seed  the  ale  I  could  not 
drink,  the  bacca  I  could  not  smoke,  nor  the  lass  I  could  not 
kiss.  Well,  we  mun  have  a  race  home,  the  lot  on  us.  I  lost 
all  th'  others,  an'  when  I  was  climbin'  ower  one  of  them  walls 
built  o'  loose  stones,  I  comes  down  into  the  ditch,  stones  an' 
all,  an'  broke  my  arm.  Not  as  I  knawed  much  about  it,  for 
I  fell  on  th'  back  o'  my  head,  an'  was  knocked  stupid  like. 
An'  when  I  come  to  mysen  it  were  mornin',  an'  I  were  lym' 
on  the  settle  i'  Jesse  Roantree's  house-place,  an'  'Liza 
Roantree  was  settin'  sewin'.  I  ached  all  ower,  and  my 
mouth  were  like  a  lime-kiln.  She  gave  me  a  drink  out  of  a 
f:I)ina  mug  wi'  gold  letters — 'A  Present  from  Leeds' — as  I 
looked  at  many  and  many  a  time  at  after.  *  Yo're  to  lie  still 
wliile  Dr.  Warbottom  comes,  because  your  arm's  broken,  an' 
falher  has  sent  a  lad  to  fetch  him.  He  found  yo'  when  he  was 
goin'  to  work,  an'  carried  you  here  on  his  back,'  sez  she.    *  Oal ' 


2  24  ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 

sez  I ;  an'  I  shet  my  eyes,  for  I  felt  ashamed  o'  mysen. 
*  Father's  gone  to  his  work  these  three  hours,  an'  he  said  he'd 
tell  'em  to  get  somebody  to  drive  the  train.'  The  clock 
ticked  an'  a  bee  comed  in  the  house,  an'  they  rung  i'  my 
head  like  mill-wheels.  An'  she  give  me  another  drink  an' 
settled  the  pillow.  *  Eh,  but  yo're  young  to  be  getten  drunk 
an'  such  like,  but  yo'  won't  do  it  again,  will  yo'?  '  *  Noa,'  sez 
I,  *  I  wouldn't  if  she'd  not  but  stop  they  mill-wheels  clat- 
terin'.'  " 

"  Faith,  it's  a  good  thing  to  be  nursed  by  a  woman  when 
you're  sick!"  said  Mulvaney.  "  Dir'  cheap  at  the  price  av 
twenty  broken  heads." 

Ortheris  turned  to  frown  across  the  valley.  He  had  not 
been  nursed  by  many  women  in  his  life. 

"  An'  then  Dr.  Warbottom  comes  ridin'  up,  an'  Jesse 
Roantree  along  with  'im.  He  was  a  high-larned  doctor,  but 
he  talked  wi'  poor  folk  same  as  theirsens.  '  What's  tha  bin 
agaate  on  naa?'  he  sings  out.  *  Brekkin  tha  thick  head?' 
An,  he  felt  me  all  over.  *  That's  none  broken.  Tha'  nobbut 
knocked  a  bit  sillier  than  ordinary,  an'  that's  daaft  eneaf.' 
An'  soa  he  went  on,  callin'  me  all  the  names  he  could  thmk 
on,  but  settin'  my  arm,  wi'  Jesse's  help,  as  careful  as  could 
be.  '  Yo'  mun  let  the  big  oaf  bide  here  a  bit,  Jesse,'  he  says, 
when  he  hed  strapped  me  up  an'  given  me  a  dose  o'  physic ; 
'an'  you  an'  '  Liza  will  tend  him,  though  he's  scarcelins  worth 
the  trouble.  An'  tha'll  lose  tha  work/  sez  he,  '  an'  tha'U  be 
upon  th'  Sick  Club  for  a  couple  o'  months  an'  more.  Doesn't 
tha  think  tha's  a  fool?'" 

"  But  whin  was  a  young  man,  high  or  low,  the  other  av  a 
fool,  I'd  like  to  know?"  said  Mulvaney.  "Sure,  folly's  the 
only  safe  way  to  wisdom,  for  I've  thried  it." 

"  Wisdom!  "  grinned  Ortheris,  scanning  his  comrades  with 
uplifted  chin.  "  You're  bloomin'  Solomons,  you  two,  ain't 
you?" 


ox   GREEN  HOW  HILL  225 

Learoyd  went  calmly  on,  with  a  steady  eye  like  an  ox  chew- 
ing  the  cud.  "  And  that  was  how  I  corned  to  know  'Liza 
Roantree.  There's  some  tunes  as  she  used  to  sing — aw,  she 
were  always  singin' — that  fetches  Greenhow  Hill  before  my 
eyes  as  fair  as  yon  brow  across  there.  And  she  would  learn 
me  to  sing  bass,  an'  I  was  to  go  to  th'  chapel  wi'  'em,  where 
Jesse  and  she  led  the  singin',  th'  old  man  playin'  the  fiddle. 
He  was  a  strange  chap,  old  Jesse,  fair  mad  wi'  music,  an' 
he  made  me  promise  to  learn  the  big  fiddle  when  my  arm 
was  better.  It  belonged  to  him,  and  it  stood  up  in  a  big 
case  alongside  o'  th'  eight-day  clock,  but  Willie  Satterthwaite, 
as  played  it  in  the  chapel,  had  getten  deaf  as  a  door-post, 
and  it  vexed  Jesse,  as  he  had  to  rap  him  ower  his  head  wi' 
th'  fiddle  stick  to  make  him  give  ower  saw^n'  at  th'  right 
time. 

"  But  there  was  a  black  drop  in  it  all,  an'  it  was  a  man  in 
a  black  coat  that  brought  it.  When  th'  Primitive  Methodist 
preacher  came  to  Greenhow,  he  would  always  stop  wi'  Jesse 
Roantree,  an'  he  laid  hold  of  me  from  th'  beginning.  It 
seemed  I  wor  a  soul  to  be  saved,  an'  he  meaned  to  do  it. 
At  th'  same  time  I  jealoused  'at  he  were  keen  o'  savin'  'Liza 
Roantree's  soul  as  well,  an'  I  could  ha'  killed  him  many  a 
time.  An'  this  went  on  til;  one  day  I  broke  out,  an'  bor- 
rowed th'  brass  for  a  drink  from  'Liza.  After  fower  days  I 
come  back,  wi'  my  tail  between  m.y  legs,  just  to  see  'Liza 
again.  "But  Jesse  were  at  home  an'  th'  preacher — th'  Rev- 
erend Amos  Barraclough.  'Liza  said  naught,  but  a  bit  o'  red 
come  into  her  face  as  were  white  of  a  regular  thing.  Says 
Jesse,  tryin'  his  best  to  be  civil:  'Nay,  lad,  it's  like  this. 
You've  getten  to  choose  which  way  it's  goin'  to  be.  I'll  ha' 
nobody  across  ma  doorstep  as  goes  a-drinkin',  an'  borrows 
my  lass'  money  to  spend  i'  their  drink.  Ho'd  tha  tongue, 
'Liza,'  sez  he,  when  she  wanted  to  put  in  a  word  'at  I  were 
welcome  to  th'  brass,  an'  she  were  none  afraid  that  I 
15 


2  26  OiV   GKEENHOW  HILL. 

wouldn't  pay  it  back.  Then  the  Reverend  cuts  in,  seein'  as 
Jesse  were  losin'  his  temper,  an'  they  fair  beat  me  among 
them.  But  it  were  'Liza,  as  looked  an'  said  naught,  as  did 
more  than  either  o'  their  tongues,  an'  soa  I  concluded  to  get 
converted." 

"Fwhat!"  shouted  Mulvaney.  Then,  checking  himself, 
he  said,  softly  :  "  Let  be !  Let  be !  Sure  the  Blessed  Virgin 
is  the  mother  of  all  religion  an'  most  women ;  an'  there's  a 
dale  av  piety  in  a  girl  if  the  men  would  only  let  it  stay  there. 
I'd  ha'  been  converted  myself  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Nay,  but,"  pursued  Learoyd,  with  a  blush,  "  I  meaned  it." 

Ortheris  laughed  as  loudly  as  he  dared,  having  regard  to 
his  business  at  the  time. 

"Ay,  Ortheris,  you  may  laugh,  but  you  didn't  know  yon 
preacher  Barraclough — a  little  white-faced  chap  wi'  a  voice 
as  'ud  wile  a  bird  off  an  a  bush,  and  a  way  o'  layin'  hold  of 
folks  as  made  them  think  they'd  never  had  a  live  man  for  a 
friend  before.  You  never  saw  him,  an' — an' — you  never 
"eed 'Liza  Roantree — never  seed  'Liza  Roantree.  .  .  .  Hap- 
pen it  was  as  much  'Liza  as  th'  preacher  and  her  father,  but 
anyways  they  all  meaned  it,  an'  I  was  fair  shamed  o'  mysen, 
an'  so  I  become  what  they  called  a  changed  character.  And 
when  I  think  on,  it's  hard  to  believe  as  yon  chap  going  to 
prayer-meetin's,  chapel,  and  class-meetin's  were  me.  But  I 
never  had  naught  to  say  for  mysen,  though  there  was  a  deal 
o'  shoutin',  and  old  Sammy  Strother,  as  were  almost 
clemmed  to  death  and  doubled  up  with  the  rheumatics, 
would  sing  out,  'Joyful!  joyful! '  and  'at  it  were  better  to  go 
up  to  heaven  in  a  coal-basket  than  down  to  hell  i'  a  coach 
an'  six.  And  he  would  put  his  poor  old  claw  on  my 
shoulder,  sayin':  'Doesn't  tha  feel  it,  tha  great  lump? 
Doesn't  tha  feel  it?'  An'  sometimes  I  thought  I  did,  and 
then  again  I  thought  I  didn't,  an'  how  was  that?  " 

"  The   iverlastin'    nature   av   mankind,"   said    Mulvaney. 


ox  crej:xiiou'  hiij..  227 

"  An',  furthermore,  I  misdoubt  you  were  built  for  the  Primi- 
tive Methodians.  They're  a  new  corps  anyways.  I  hold  by 
the  Ould  Church,  for  she's  the  mother  of  them  all — ay,  an' 
the  father,  too.  I  like  her  bekase  she's  most  remarkable 
regimental  in  her  fittings.  I  may  die  in  Honolulu,  Nova 
Zambra,  or  Cape  Cayenne,  but  wherever  I  die,  me  bein' 
fwhat  I  am,  an'  a  priest  handy,  I  go  under  the  same  orders 
an'  the  same  words  an'  the  same  unction  as  tho'  the  Pope 
himself  come  down  from  the  dome  av  St.  Peter's  to  see  me 
off.  There's  neither  high  nor  low,  nor  broad  nor  deep,  nor 
betwixt  nor  between  with  her,  an'  that's  what  I  like.  But 
mark  you,  she's  no  manner  av  Church  for  a  wake  man,  be- 
kase she  takes  the  body  and  the  soul  av  him,  onless  he  has 
his  proper  work  to  do.  I  remember  when  my  father  died 
that  was  three  months  comin'  to  his  grave ;  begad  he'd  ha' 
sold  the  shebeen  above  our  heads  for  ten  minutes'  quit- 
tance of  purgathory.  An'  he  did  all  he  could.  That's  why 
I  say  it  takes  a  strong  man  to  deal  with  the  Ould  Church, 
an'  for  that  reason  you'll  find  so  many  women  go  there.  An' 
that  same's  a  conundrum." 

"Wot's  the  use  o'  worrittin'  'bout  these  things?"  said 
Ortheris.  "  You're  bound  to  find  all  out  quicker  nor  you 
want  to,  any'ow."  He  jerked  the  cartridge  out  of  the 
breech-block  into  the  palm  of  his  hand.  " 'Ere's  my  chap- 
lain," he  said,  and  made  the  venomous  black-headed  bullet 
bow  like  a  marionette.  "  'E's  goin'  to  teach  a  man  all  about 
which  is  which,  an'  wot's  true,  after  all,  before  sundown. 
But  wot  'appened  after  that,  Jock?  '^ 

"  There  was  one  thing  they  boggled  at,  and  almost  shut 
tir  gate  i'  my  face  for,  and  that  were  my  dog  Blast,  th'  only 
one  saved  out  o'  a  litter  o'  pups  as  was  blowed  up  when  a  keg 
o'  minin'  powder  loosed  off  in  th'  storekeeper's  hut.  They 
liked  his  name  no  better  than  his  business,  which  was  fight- 
in'  every  dog  he  corned  across;  a  rare  good  dog,  wi'  spots  o' 


2  28  ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 

black  and  pink  on  his  face,  one  ear  gone,  and  lame  o'  one 
side  \vi'  being  driven  in  a  basket  through  an  iron  roof,  a  mat- 
ter of  half  a  mile. 

"  They  said  I  mun  give  him  up  'cause  he  were  worldly  and 
low;  and  would  I  let  mysen  be  shut  out  of  heaven  for  the 
sake  on  a  dog?  'Nay,'  says  I,  *if  th'  door  isn't  wide  enough 
for  th'  pair  on  us,  we'll  stop  outside,  or  we'll  none  be 
parted.'  And  th'  preacher  spoke  up  for  Blast,  as  had  a  Hkin' 
for  him  from  th'  first — I  reckon  that  was  why  I  come  to  like 
th'  preacher — and  wouldn't  hear  o'  changin'  his  name  to 
Bless,  as  some  o'  them  wanted.  So  th'  pair  on  us  became 
reg'lar  chapel  members.  But  it's  hard  for  a  young  chap  o' 
my  build  to  cut  traces  from  the  world,  th'  flesh,  an'  the  devil 
all  av  a  heap.  Yet  I  stuck  to  it  for  a  long  time,  while  th' 
lads  as  used  to  stand  about  th'  town-end  an'  lean  ower  th' 
bridge,  spittin'  into  th'  beck  o'  a  Sunday,  would  call  after 
me,  '  Sitha,  Learoyd,  when's  ta  bean  to  preach,  'cause  we're 
comin'  to  hear  that.'  *  Ho'd  tha  jaw.  He  hasn't  getten  th' 
white  choaker  on  ta  morn,'  another  lad  would  say,  and  I  had 
to  double  my  fists  hard  i'  th'  bottom  of  my  Sunday  coat,  and 
say  to  mysen,  '  If  'twere  Monday  and  I  warn't  a  member  o' 
the  Primitive  Methodists,  I'd  leather  ail  th'  lot  of  yond'.' 
That  was  th'  hardest  of  all — to  know  that  I  could  fight  and  I 
mustn't  fight." 

Sympathetic  grunts  from  Mulvaney. 

"  So  what  wi'  singin',  practisin',  and  class-meetin's,  and  th' 
big  fiddle,  as  he  made  me  take  between  my  knees,  I  spent  a 
deal  o'  time  i'  Jesse  Roantree's  house-place.  But  often  as  I 
was  there,  th'  preacher  fared  to  me  to  go  oftener,  and  both 
th'  old  an'  th'  young  woman  were  pleased  to  have  him.  He 
hved  i'  Pately  Brigg,  as  were  a  goodish  step  off,  but  he  come. 
He  come  all  the  same.  I  liked  him  as  well  or  better  as  any 
man  I'd  ever  seen  i'  one  way,  and  yet  I  hated  him  wi'  all  my 
heart  i'  t'other,  and  we  watched  each  other  like  cat  and 


ox   GKEEXHOIV  JIILL.  229 

mouse,  but  civil  as  you  please,  for  I  was  on  my  best  be- 
havior, and  he  was  that  fair  and  open  that  I  was  bound  to 
be  fair  with  him.  Rare  good  company  he  was,  if  I  hadn't 
wanted  to  wring  his  cliver  little  neck  half  of  the  time.  Often 
and  often  when  he  was  goin'  from  Jesse's  I'd  set  him  a  bit 
on  the  road." 

"See  'im  'ome,  you  mean?"  said  Ortheris. 

"Ay.  It's  a  way  we  have  i'  Yorkshire  o'  seein'  friends  oflF. 
You  was  a  friend  as  I  didn't  want  to  come  back,  and  he 
didn't  want  me  to  come  back  neither,  and  so  we'd  walk  to- 
gether toward  Pately,  and  then  he'd  set  me  back  again,  and 
there  we'd  be  wal  two  i'  o'clock  the  morning'  settin'  each  other 
to  an'  fro  like  a  blasted  pair  o'  pendulums  twixt  hill  and  valley, 
long  after  th'  light  had  gone  out  i'  'Liza's  window,  as  both  on 
us  had  been  looking  at,  pretending  to  watch  the  moon.'' 

"Ah!"  broke  in  Mulvaney,  "yc'd  no  chanst  against  the 
maraudin'  psalm-singer.  They'll  take  the  airs  an'  the  graces 
instid  av  the  man  nine  times  out  av  ten,  an'  they  only  find 
the  blunder  later — the  wimmen." 

"That's  just  where  yoVe  wrong,"  said  Learoyd,  reddening 
under  the  freckled  tan  of  his  cheek.  "  I  was  th'  first  wi' 
'Liza,  an'  yo'd  think  that  were  enough.  But  th'  parson  were 
a  steady-gaited  sort  o'  chap,  and  Jesse  were  strong  o'  his 
side,  and  all  th'  women  i'  the  congregation  dinned  it  to  'Liza 
'at  she  were  fair  fond  to  take  up  wi'  a  wastrel  ne'er-do-weel 
like  me,  as  was  scarcelins  respectable  and  a  fighting  dog 
at  his  heels.  It  was  all  very  well  for  her  to  be  floing  me 
good  and  saving  my  soul,  but  she  must  mind  as  she  didn't 
do  herself  harm.  They  talk  o'  rich  folk  bcin'  stuck  up  an' 
genteel,  but  for  cast-iron  pride  o'  respectability  there's  naught 
like  poor  chapel  folk.  It's  as  cold  as  th'  wind  o'  Greenhow 
Hill — ay,  and  colder,  for  'twill  never  change.  hw(\  now  I 
come  to  think  on  it,  one  at  strangest  things  I  know  is  'at 
they  couldn't  abide  tir  thought  0"  soldiering.     There's  a  vast 


230  O.V   GREEXIIOW  HILL. 

o'  fightin'  i'  th'  Bible,  and  there's  a  deal  of  Methodists  i"  th' 
army;  but  to  hear  chapel  folk  talk  yo'd  think  that  soldierin' 
were  next  door,  an'  t'other  side,  to  hangin'.  V  their  meetin's 
all  their  talk  is  o'  fightin'.  When  Sammy  Strother  were  stuck 
for  summat  to  say  in  his  prayers,  he'd  sing  out,  '  The  sword 
o'  th'  Lord  and  o'  Gideon.'  They  were  alius  at  it  about 
puttin'  on  th'  whole  armor  o'  righteousness,  an'  fightin'  the 
good  fight  o'  faith.  And  then,  atop  o'  't  all,  they  held  a 
prayer-meetin'  ower  a  young  chap  as  wanted  to  'list,  and 
nearly  deafened  him,  till  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  fair  ran 
away.  And  they'd  tell  tales  in  th'  Sunday-school  o'  bad 
lads  as  had  been  thumped  and  brayed  for  bird-nesting  o' 
Sundays  and  playin'  truant  o'  week-days,  and  how  they  took 
to  wrestlin',  dog-fightin',  rabbit-runnin',  and  drinkin',  till  at 
last,  as  if  'twere  a  hepitaph  on  a  gravestone,  they  damned 
him  across  th'  moors  wi',  an'  then  he  went  and  'listed  for  a 
soldier,  an'  they'd  all  fetch  a  deep  breath,  and  throw  up  their 
eyes  like  a  hen  drinkin'." 

"Fwhy  is  it?  "  said  Mulvaney,  bringing  down  his  hand  on 
his  thigh  with  a  crack.  "In  the  name  av  God,  fwhy  is  it? 
I've  seen  it,  tu.  They  cheat  an'  they  swindle  an'  they  lie 
an'  they  slander,  an'  fifty  things  fifty  times  worse;  but  the 
last  an'  the  worst  by  their  leckonin'  is  to  serve  the  Widdy 
honest.  It's  like  the  talk  av  childer — seein'  things  all 
round." 

"  Plucky  lot  of  fightin'  good  fights  of  whatsername  they'd 
do  if  we  didn't  see  they  had  a  quiet  place  to  fight  in.  And 
such  fightin'  as  theirs  is!  Cats  on  the  tiles.  T'other  callin' 
to  which  to  come  on.  I'd  give  a  month's  pay  to  get  some 
o'  them  broad-backed  beggars  in  London  sweatin'  through  a 
day's  road-makin'  an'  a  night's  rain.  They'd  carry  on  a  deal 
afterward — same  as  we're  supposed  to  carry  on.  I've  bin 
turned  out  of  a  measly  arf-license  pub  down  Lambeth  way, 
full  o'  greasy  kebmen,  'fore  now,"  said  Ortheris  with  an  oath. 


ox   GREEN  now  HILL.  231 

"  Maybe  you  were  dhrunk,"  said  Mulvaney  soothingly 

"  Worse  nor  that.  The  Forders  were  drunk.  I  was  wear- 
in'  the  queen's  uniform.' 

"I'd  no  particular  thought  to  be  a  soldier  i'  them  days," 
said  Learoyd,  still  keeping  his  eye  on  the  bare  hill  opposite, 
"but  this  sort  o'  talk  put  it  i'  ray  head.  They  was  so  good, 
th'  chapel  folk,  that  they  tumbled  ower  t'other  side.  But  I 
stuck  to  it  for  'Liza's  sake,  specially  as  she  was  learning  me 
to  sing  the  bass  part  in  a  horotorio  as  Jesse  were  getting  up. 
She  sung  like  a  throstle  hersen,  and  we  had  practisin's  night 
after  night  for  a  matter  of  three  months." 

"  I  know  what  a  horotorio  is,"  said  Ortheris  pertly.  "  It's 
a  sort  of  chaplain's  sing-song — words  all  out  of  the  Bible, 
and  hullabaloojah  choruses." 

"  Most  Greenhow  Hill  folks  played  some  instrument  or 
t'other,  an'  they  all  sung  so  you  might  have  heard  them  miles 
away,  and  they  were  so  pleased  wi'  the  noise  they  made  they 
didn't  fair  to  want  anybody  to  listen.  The  preacher  sung 
high  seconds  when  he  wasn't  playin'  the  flute,  an'  they  set 
me,  as  hadn't  got  far  with  big  fiddle,  again  Willie  Satter- 
thwaite,  to  jog  his  elbow  when  he  had  to  get  a'  gate  playin'. 
Old  Jesse  was  happy  if  ever  a  man  was,  for  he  were  th'  con- 
ductor an'  th'  first  fiddle  an'  th'  leadin'  singer,  beatin'  time 
wi'  his  fiddle-stick,  till  at  times  he'd  rap  with  it  on  the  table, 
and  cry  out,  *  Now,  you  mun  all  stop;  it's  my  turn.'  And 
he'd  face  round  to  his  front,  fair  sweating  wi'  pride,  to  sing 
the  tenor  solos.  But  he  t\'ere  grandest  i'  th'  chorus,  waggin' 
his  head,  flinging  his  arm.s  round  like  a  windmill,  and  singin' 
hisself  black  in  the  face.     A  rare  singer  were  Jesse. 

"  Yo'  see,  I  was  not  o'  much  account  wi'  'em  all  exceptin' 
to  Eliza  Roantree,  and  I  had  a  deal  o'  time  settin'  quiet  at 
meeting  and  horotorio  practises  to  hearken  their  talk,  and  if 
it  were  strange  to  me  at  beginnin',  it  got  stranger  still  at  after, 
when  I  was  shut  in,  and  could  study  what  it  meaned. 


232  Oy   GREEXHOIV  HILL. 

"Just  aftei  ih'  horotorios  come  off,  'Liza,  as  had  alius  been 
weakly  like,  was  took  very  bad.  I  walked  Dr.  Warbottom's 
horse  up  and  down  a  deal  of  times  while  he  were  inside, 
where  they  wouldn't  let  me  go,  though  I  fair  ached  to  see 
her. 

"  *  She'll  be  better  i'  noo,  lad — better  i'  noo,  he  used  to 
say.  *  Tha  mun  ha'  patience.'  Then  they  said  if  I  was 
quiet  I  might  go  in,  and  th'  Reverend  Amos  Barraclough 
used  to  read  to  her  lyin'  propped  up  among  th'  pillows. 
Then  she  began  to  mend  a  bit,  and  they  let  me  carry  her  on 
to  th'  settle,  and  when  it  got  warm  again  she  went  about 
same  as  afore.  Th'  preacher  and  me  and  Blast  was  a  deal 
together  i'  them  days,  and  i'  one  way  we  was  rare  good  com- 
rades. But  I  could  ha'  stretched  him  time  and  again  with  a 
good  will,  I  mind  one  day  he  said  he  would  like  to  go  down 
into  th'  bowels  o'  th'  earth,  and  see  how  th'  Lord  had  builded 
th'  framework  o'  th'  everlastin'  hills.  He  was  one  of  them 
chaps  as  had  a  gift  o'  sayin'  things.  They  rolled  off  the  tip 
of  his  clever  tongue,  same  as  Mulvaney  here,  as  would  ha' 
made  a  rare  good  preacher  if  he  had  nobbut  given  his  mind 
to  it.  I  lent  him  a  suit  o'  miner's  kit  as  almost  buried  th' 
little  man,  and  his  white  face  down  i'  th'  coat  collar  and  hat 
flap  looked  like  the  face  of  a  boggart,  and  he  cowered  down  i' 
th'  bottom  o'  the  wagon.  I  was  drivin'  a  tram  as  led  up  a 
bit  of  an  incline  up  to  th'  cave  where  the  engine  was  pump- 
in',  and  where  th^  ore  was  brought  up  and  put  into  th' 
wagons  as  went  down  o'  themselves,  me  puttin  th'  brake  on 
and  th'  horses  a-trottin'  after.  Long  as  it  was  daylight  we 
were  good  friends,  but  when  we  got  fair  into  th'  dark,  and 
could  nobbut  see  th'  day  shinin'  at  the  hole  hke  a  lamp  at  a 
street  end,  I  feeled  downright  wicked.  My  religion  dropped 
all  away  from  me  when  I  looked  hack  at  him  as  were  always 
comin'  between  me  and  Eliza.  The  talk  was  'at  they  were 
to  be  wed  when  she  got  better,  an'  I  couldn't  get  her  to  say 


O.V  GREEN  now  HILL.  233 

yes  or  nay  to  it.  He  began  to  sing  a  hymn  in  his  thin  voice, 
and  I  came  out  \\\  a  chorus  that  was  all  cussin'  an'  swearin' 
at  my  horses,  an'  I  began  to  know  how  I  hated  him.  He 
were  such  a  little  chap,  too.  I  could  drop  him  wi'  one  hand 
down  Garstang's  copper  hole — a  place  where  th'  beck  slithered 
ower  th'  edge  on  a  rock,  and  fell  wi'  a  bit  of  a  whisper  into 
a  pit  as  rope  i'  Greenhow  could  plump." 

Again  Learoyd  rooted  up  the  innocent  violets.  "Ay,  he 
should  see  th'  bowels  o'  th'  earth  an'  never  naught  else.  I 
could  take  him  a  mile  or  two  along  th'  drift,  and  leave  him 
wi'  his  candle  doused  to  cry  hallelujah,  wi'  none  to  hear  him 
and  say  amen.  I  was  to  lead  him  down  th'  ladder  way  to  th' 
drift  where  Jess  Roantree  was  workin',  and  why  shouldn't 
be  slip  on  th'  ladder,  wi'  my  feet  on  his  fingers  till  they 
loosed  grip,  and  I  put  him  down  wi'  my  heel  ?  If  I  went 
fust  down  th'  ladder  I  could  click  hold  on  him  and  chuck  him 
over  my  head,  so  as  he  should  go  squashin'  down  the  shaft, 
breakin'  his  bones  at  ev'ry  timberin'  as  Bill  Appleton  did 
when  he  was  fresh,  and  hadn't  a  bone  left  when  he  wrought 
to  th'  bottom.  Niver  a  blasted  leg  to  walk  from  Pately. 
Niver  an  arm  to  put  round  'Liza  Roantree's  waist.  Niver 
no  more — niver  no  more." 

The  thick  lips  curled  back  over  the  yellow  teeth,  and  that 
flushed  face  was  not  pretty  to  look  upon.  Mulvaney  nodded 
sympathy,  and  Ortheris,  moved  by  his  comrade's  passion, 
brought  up  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and  searched  the  hill- 
side for  his  quarry,  muttering  ribaldry  about  a  sparrow,  a 
spout,  and  a  thunderstorm.  The  voice  of  the  watercourse 
supplied  the  necessary  small-talk  till  Learoyd  picked  up  his 
story. 

"  But  it's  none  so  easy  to  kill  a  man  like  yon.  When  I'd 
give  up  my  horses  to  th'  lad  ns  took  mv  place  and  I  wns 
showin'  th'  preacher  th'  workin's,  shoutin'  into  his  ear  across 
th'   clang   o'    th'   pumpin'    engines,   I    saw   he  was  afraid   o' 


234  ON  GREEN  HOW  HILL. 

naught;  and  when  the  lamplight  showed  his  black  eyes,  I 
could  feel  as  he  was  masterin'  me  again.  1  were  no  better 
nor  Blast  chained  up  short  and  growlin'  i'  the  depths  of  him 
while  a  strange  dog  went  safe  past. 

" '  Th'art  a  coward  and  a  fool,'  I  said  to  mysen ;  an'  I 
wrestled  i'  my  mind  again'  him  till,  when  we  come  to  Gar- 
stang's  copper  hole,  I  laid  hold  o'  the  preacher  and  lifted 
him  up  over  my  head  and  held  him  into  the  darkest  on  it. 
*  Now,  lad,'  I  says,  '  it's  to  be  one  or  t'other  on  us — thee  or 
me — for  'Liza  Roantree.  Why,  isn't  thee  afraid  for  thysen?' 
I  says,  for  he  were  still  i'  my  arms  as  a  sack.  'Nay;  I'm 
but  afraid  for  thee,  my  poor  lad,  as  knows  naught,'  says  he. 
I  set  him  down  on  th'  edge,  an'  th'  beck  run  stiller,  an'  there 
was  no  more  buzzin'  in  my  head  like  when  th'  be  come 
through  th'  window  o'  Jesse's  house.  *  What  dost  tha  mean?  ' 
says  I. 

" '  Ive  often  thought  as  thou  ought  to  know,'  says  he,  'but 
'twas  hard  to  tell  thee.  'Liza  Roantree's  for  neither  on  us, 
nor  for  nobody  o'  this  earth.  Dr.  Warbottom  says — and  he 
knows  her,  and  her  mother  before  her — that  she  is  in  a  de- 
cline, and  she  cannot  live  six  months  longer.  He's  known 
it  for  many  a  day.  Steady,  John!  Steady! '  says  he.  And 
that  weak  Httle  man  pulled  me  further  back  and  set  me  again' 
him,  and  talked  it  all  over  quiet  and  still,  me  turnin'  a  bunch 
o'  candles  in  my  hand,  and  counting  them  ower  and  ower 
again  as  I  listened.  A  deal  on  it  were  th'  regular  preachin' 
talk,  but  there  were  a  vast  lot  as  made  me  begin  to  think  as 
he  were  more  of  a  man  than  I'd  ever  given  him  credit  for 
till  I  were  cut  as  deep  for  him  as  I  were  for  mysen. 

"  Six  candles  we  had,  and  we  crawled  and  climbed  all  that 
day  while  they  lasted,  and  I  said  to  mysen,  '  'Liza  Roantree 
hasn't  six  months  to  live.'  And  when  we  came  into  th'  day- 
light again  we  were  like  dead  men  to  look  at,  an'  Blast  come 
behind  us  without  so  much  as  waggin'  his  tail.     When  I  saw 


O.V  GREENHOIV  HILL.  235 

'Liza  again  she  looked  at  me  a  minute  and  says:  'Who's 
telled  tha?  For  I  see  tha  knows.'  And  she  tried  to  smile 
as  she  kissed  me,  and  I  fair  broke  down. 

*'  You  see,  I  was  a  young  chap  i'  them  days,  and  had  seen 
naught  o'  life,  let  alone  death,  as  is  alius  a-waitin\  She 
telled  me  as  Dr.  Warbottom  said  as  Greenhow  air  was  too 
keen,  and  they  were  goin'  to  Bradford,  to  Jesse's  brother 
David,  as  worked  i'  a  mill,  and  I  mun  hold  up  like  a  man 
and  a  Christian,  and  she'd  pray  for  me  well,  and  they  went 
away,  and  the  preacher  that  same  back  end  o'  th'  year  were 
appointed  to  another  circuit,  as  they  call  it,  and  I  were  left 
alone  on  Greenhow  Hill. 

"  I  tried,  and  I  tried  hard,  to  stick  to  th'  chapel,  but 
'tweren't  th'  same  thing  at  after.  I  hadn't  'Liza's  voice  to 
follow  i'  th'  singin',  nor  her  eyes  a-shinin'  acrost  their  heads. 
And  i'  th'  class-meetings  they  said  as  I  mun  have  some  ex- 
periences to  tell,  and  I  hadn't  a  word  to  say  for  mysen. 

"Blast  and  me  moped  a  good  deal,  and  happen  we  didn't 
behave  ourselves  over  well,  for  they  dropped  us,  and  won- 
dered however  they'd  come  to  take  us  up.  I  can't  tell  how 
we  got  through  th'  time,  while  i'  th'  winter  I  gave  up  my  job 
and  went  to  Bradford.  Old  Jesse  were  at  th'  door  o'  th' 
house,  in  a  long  street  o'  little  houses.  He'd  been  sendin' 
th'  children  'way  as  were  clatterin'  their  clogs  in  th'  cause- 
way, for  she  were  asleep. 

"  '  Is  it  thee?'  he  says:  'but  you're  not  to  see  her.  Lll 
none  have  her  wakened  for  a  nowt  like  thee.  She's  goin' 
fast,  and  she  mun  go  in  peace.  Thou'lt  never  be  good  for 
naught  i'  th'  world,  and  as  long  as  thou  lives  thou'll  never 
play  the  big  fiddle.  Get  away,  lad,  get  away!  '  So  he  shut 
the  door  softly  i'  my  face. 

"  Nobody  never  made  Jesse  my  master,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  he  was  about  right,  and  I  went  away  into  the  town  and 
knocked  up  against  a  recruiting  sergeant.     The  old  tales  o' 


236  ON  GREEN  HOW  HILL. 

th'  chapel  folk  came  buzzin'  into  my  head.  I  was  to  get 
away,  and  this  were  th'  regular  road  for  the  likes  o'  me.  I 
'listed  there  and  then,  took  th'  Widow's  shillin',  and  had  a 
bunch  o'  ribbons  pinned  i'  my  hat. 

"  But  next  day  I  found  my  way  to  David  Roantree's  door, 
and  Jesse  came  to  open  it.  Says  he,  *Thou's  come  back 
again  wi'  th'  devil's  colors  flyin' — thy  true  colors,  as  I  always 
telled  thee.' 

"  But  I  begged  and  prayed  of  him  to  let  me  see  her  nob- 
but  to  say  good-by,  till  a  woman  calls  down  th'  stairway — 
she  says,  'John  Learoyd's  to  come  up.'  Th'  old  man  shift 
aside  in  a  flash,  and  lays  his  hand  on  my  arm,  quite  gentle 
like.  *But  thou'lt  be  quiet,  John,'  says  he,  'for  she's  rare 
and  weak.     Thou  wast  alius  a  good  lad.' 

"  Her  eyes  were  all  alive  wi'  light,  and  her  hair  was  thick 
on  the  pillow  round  her,  but  her  cheeks  were  thin — thin  to 
frighten  a  man  that's  strong.  'Nay,  father,  yo'  mayn't  say 
th'  devil's  colors.  Them  ribbons  is  pretty.'  An*  she  held 
out  her  hands  for  th'  hat,  an'  she  put  all  straight  as  a  woman 
will  wi'  ribbons.  *  Nay,  but  what  they're  pretty,'  she  says. 
*  Eh,  but  I'd  ha'  liked  to  see  thee  i'  thy  red  coat,  John,  for 
thou  wast  alius  my  own  lad — my  very  own  lad,  and  none 
else.' 

"She  lifted  up  her  arms,  and  they  come  round  my  neck  i' 
a  gentle  grip,  and  they  slacked  away,  and  she  seemed  fainting. 
*Now  yo'  mun  get  away,  lad,'  says  Jesse,  and  I  picked  up 
my  hat  and  I  came  down-stairs. 

"  Th'  recruiting  sergeant  were  waitin'  for  me  at  th'  corner 
public-house.  '  Yo've  seen  your  sweetheart?  '  says  he.  *  Yes, 
I've  seen  her,'  says  I.  'Well,  we'll  have  a  quart  now,  and 
you'll  do  your  best  to  forget  her,'  says  he,  bein'  one  o'  them 
smart,  bustlin'  chaps.  '  Ay,  sergeant,'  says  I.  '  Forget  her.' 
And  I've  been  forgettin'  her  ever  since." 

He  threw  away  the  wilted  clump  of  white  violets  as  he 


ox   GREENHOW  HILL.  237 

Spoke.  Ortheris  suddenly  rose  to  his  knees,  his  rifle  at  his 
shoulder,  and  peered  across  the  valley  in  the  clear  afternoon 
light.  His  chin  cuddled  the  stock,  and  there  was  a  twitching 
of  the  muscles  of  the  right  cheek  as  he  sighted;  Private 
Stanley  Ortheris  was  engaged  on  his  business.  A  speck  of 
white  crawled  up  the  watercourse. 

"  See  that  beggar?     Got  'im." 

Seven  hundred  yards  away,  and  a  full  two  hundred  down 
the  hill-side,  the  deserter  of  the  Aurangabadis  pitched  for- 
ward, rolled  down  a  red  rock,  and  lay  very  still,  with  his  face 
in  a  clump  of  blue  gentians,  while  a  big  raven  flapped  out  of 
the  pine  wood  to  make  investigation. 

"That's  a  clean  shot,  Httle  man,"  said  Mulvaney. 

Learoyd  thoughtfully  watched  the  smoke  clear  away. 

*'  Happen  there  was  a  lass  tewed  up  wi'  him,  too,"  said  he. 
Ortheris  did  not  reply.  He  was  staring  across  the  valley, 
with  the  smile  of  the  artist  who  looks  on  the  completed  work. 

For  Ke  saw  that  it  was  good. 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF 
CLERGY. 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 


"But  if  it  be  a  girl?*' 

"  Lord  of  my  life,  it  cannot  be !  *  I  have  prayed  for  so 
many  nights,  and  sent  gifts  to  Sheikh^BadPs  shrine  so  often, 
that  I  know  God  will  give  us  a  son — a  man-child  that  shall 
grow  into  ^  lAian.  Think  of  this  and  be  glad.  My  mother 
shall  be  h^?  mother  till  I  can  take  him  again,  and  the  mullah 
of  the  Pattan  Mosque  shall  cast  his  nativity — God  send  he 
be  born  in  an  auspicious  hour! — and  then^,  and  then  thou  wilt 
never  weary  of  me,  thy  slave." 

"  Since  when  hast  thou  been  a  slave,  my  queen?  " 

"  Since  the  beginning — till  this  mercy  came  to  me.  How 
could  I  be  sure  of  thy  love  when  I  knew  that  I  had  been 
bought  with  silver?" 

"  Nay,  that  was  the  dowry.     I  paid  it  to  thy  mother." 

"  And  she  has  buried  it,  and  sits  upon  it  all  day  long  like 
a  hen.  What  talk  is  yours  of  dowry?  •  I  was  bought  as 
though  I  had  been  a  Lucknow  dancing-girl  instead  of  a 
child." 

"  Art  thou  sorry  for  the  sale?  " 

"  I  have  sorrowed;  but  to-day  I  am  glad.  Thou  wilt  never 
cease  to  love  me  now?  -Answer,  my  king." 

"  Never — never.      No." 

"  Not  even  though  tlie  mc/zi-Zo^  ~ihc  white  women  of  thy 
i6 


242  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

own  blood — love  thee?  And  remember,  I  have  watched 
them  driving  in  the  evening ;  they  are  very  fair." 

"  I  have  seen  fire-balloons  by  the  hundred^I  have  s^^en  the 
moon,  and — then  I  saw  no  more  fire-balloons." 

Ameera  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed.  "Very  good 
talk,"  she  said.  Then,  with  an  assumption  of  great  stateli- 
nes^  "  It  is  enough.  Thou  hast  my  permission  to  depart^— if 
thou  wilt." 

The  man  did  not  move.  He  was  sitting  on  a  low  red- 
lacquered  couch  in  a  room  furnished  only  with  a  bluecandr 
white  floor-cloth,  some  rugs,  and  a  very  complete  collection 
of  native  cushions.  At  his  feet  sat  a  woman  of  sixteen,  and 
she  was  all  but  all  the  world  in  his  eyes.  By  every  rule  and 
law  she  should  have  been  otherwise,  for  he  was  an  English- 
man and  she  a  Mussulman's  daughter,  bought  two  years  be- 
fore from  her  mother,  who,  being  left  without  money,  would 
have  sold  Ameera,  shrieking,  to  the  Prince  of  Darknes^)if 
the  price  had  been  sufficient.  ^p 

It  was  a  contract  entered  into  with  a  light  hearh;  But 
even  before  the  girl  had  reached  her  bloom  she  came  to  fill 
the  greater  portion  of  John  Holden's  life.  For  her.and  the 
withered  hag  her  mother,  he  had  taken  a  little  house  over- 
looking the 'great  red-walled  city,  and  found,-when  the  mari- 
golds had  sprung  up  by  the  well  in  the  court-yard,  and 
Ameera  had  established  herself  according  to  her  own  ideas 
of  comfort,  and  her  mother  had  ceased  grumbling  at  the  in- 
adequacy of  J;he  cooking-places,  the  distance  from  the  daily 
market,  and,  matters  of  housekeeping  in  general,  ^hat  the 
house  was  to  him  his  home.  Any  one  could  enter  his  bach- 
elor's bungalow  by  day  or  night,  and  the  life  that  he  led 
there  was  an  unlovely  one.  In  the  house  in  the  city  his  feet 
only  could  pass  beyond  the  outer  courtyard  to  the  women's 
rooms;  and  when  the  big  wooden  gate  was  bolted  behind 
him  he  was  king  in  his  own  territory,  with  Ameera  for  queen. 


WITHOUT  BEXEFIT  OF  CLERGY.  243 

And  there  was  going  to  be  added  to  this  kingdom  a  third 
person,  whose  arrival  Holden  felt  inclined  to  resent.  It  in- 
terfered with  his  perfect  happiness.  It  disarranged  the 
orderly  peace  of  the  house  that  was  his  own.  But  Ameera 
was  wild  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  it,  and  her  mother 
not  less  so.  The  love  of  a  man,  and  particularly  a  white 
man,  was  at  the  best  an  inconstant  affair,  but  it  might,  both 
women  argued,  be  held  fast  by  a  baby's  hands.  "  And  then," 
Ameera  would  always  say--"  then  he  will  never  care  for  the 
white  viem-log.     I  hate  them  all — I  hate  them  all." 

"  He  will  go  back  to  his  own  people  in  time,"  said  the 
motheiy  "  but,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  that  time  is  yet  afar 
off." 

Holden  sat  silent  on  the  couch,  thinking  of  the  future, 
and  his  thoughts  were  not  pleasant.  The  drawbacks  of  a 
double  life  are  manifold.  The  government,  with  singular 
care,  had  ordered  him  out  of  the  station  for  a  fortnight  on 
special  duty  in  the  place  of  a  man  who  was  watching  by  the 
bedside  of  a  sick  wife.  The  verbal  notification  of  the  trans- 
fer had  been  edged  by  a  cheerful  remark  that  Holden  ought 
to  think  himself  lucky  in  being  a  bachelor  and  a  free  man. 
He  came  to  break  the  news  to  Ameera. 

"  It  is  not  good,"  she  said  slowly,  "  but  it  is  not  all  bad. 
There  is  my  mother  here,  and  no  harm  will  come  to  me — 
unless,  indeed,  I  die  of  pure  joy.  Go  thou  to  thy  work, 
and  think  no  troublesome  thoughts.  When  the  days  are 
done  I  believe  .  .  .  nay,  I  am  sure.  And — and  then  I  shall 
lay  him  in  thy  arms,  and  thou  wilt  love  me  forifever.  The 
train  goes  to-night;— at  midnight,  is  it  not?  Go  now,  and  do 
not  let  thy  heart  be  heavy  by  cause  of  me.  But  thou  wilt 
not  delay  in  returning^I  ;  Thou  wilt  not  stay  on  the  road  to 
talk  to  the  bold  white  jne??i-u^g/.  .-  Come  back  to  me  swiftly, 
my  life!" 

As  he  left    the  court^'ard   to  reach    his  horse,   that  was 


2  44  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CIERGY. 

tethered  to  the  gate-post,  Holden  spoke  to  the  white-haired 
old  watchman  who  guarded,  the  house,  and  bade  him  under 
certain  contingencies  dispatch  the  filled-up  telegraph-form 
that  Holden  gave  him.  It  was  all  that  could  be  done,  ano^ 
with  the  sensations  of  a  man  who  has  attended  his  own 
funeral,  Holden  went  away  hy  the  night-mail  to  his  exile. 
Every  hour  of  the  day  he  dreaded  the  arrival  of  the  telegram, 
and  every  hour  of  the  night  he  pictured  to  hir^self  the  death 
of  Ameera.  In  consequence,  his  work  for  the  state  was  not  of 
first-rate  quality,  nor  was  his  temper  toward  his  colleagues  of 
the  most  amiable.  The  fortnight  ended  without  a  sign  from 
his  home,  and,  torn  to  pieces  by  his  anxieties,  Holden  re- 
turned to  be  swallowed  up  for  two  precious  hours  by  a  din- 
ner at  the  club,  wherein  he  heard,  as  a  man  hears  in  a  swoon, 
voices  telling  him  how  execrably  he  had  performed  the  other 
man's  duties*  and  how  he  had  endeared  himself  to  all  his  as- 
sociates. Then  he  fled  on  horseback  through  the  night  with 
his  heart  in  his  mouth.  There  was  no  answer  at  first  to  his 
blows  on  the  gate,  and  he  had  just  wheeled  his  horse  round 
to  kick  it  in  when  Pir  Khan  appeared  with  a  lantern  and 
held  his  stirrup. 

"Has  aught  occurred?"  said  Holden. 

"  The  news  does  not  come  from  my  mouth,  Protector  of 
the  Poor,  but "  He  held  out  his  shaking  hand,  as  be- 
fitted the  bearer  of  good  news  who  is  entitled  to  a  reward. 

Holden  hurried  through  the  court-yard.  A  light  burned 
in  the  upper  room.  His  horse  neighed  in  the  gateway,  and 
he  heard  a  pin-pointed  wail  that  sent  all  the  blood  into  the 
apple  of  his  throat.  It  was  a  new  voice,  but  it  did  not  prove 
that  Ameera  was  alive. 

"Who  is  there?  "  he  called  up  the  narrow  brick  staircase. 

There  was  a  cry  of  delight  from  Ameera,  and  then  the 
voice  of  her  mother,  tremulous  with  old  age  and  prid^"*'  We 
be  two  women  and — the — man — thy-son." 


WITHOUT  BEXEFIT   OF   CLERGY.  245 

On  the  threshold  of  the  room  Flolden  stepped  on  a  naked 
dagger,that  was  laid  there  to  avert  ill  luck,  and  it  broke  at 
the  hilt  under  his  impatient  heel. 

"  God  is  great!  "  cooed  Ameera  in  the  half-light.  "  Thou 
hast  taken  his  misfortunes  on  thy  head." 

"Ay,  but  how  is  it  with  thee,  life  of  my  life?  Old  woman, 
how  is  it  with  her?  " 

"She  has  forgotten  her  sufferings  for  joy  that  the  child  is 
born.     There  is  no  harm;  but  speak  softly,"  said  the  mother. 

"  It  only  needed  thy  presence  to  make  me  all  well,"  said 
Ameera.  "  My  king,  thou  hast  been  very  long  away.  What 
gifts  hast  thou  for  me?  Ah!  ah!  It  is  I  that  bring  gifts 
this  time.  Look,  my  life,  look!  'Was  there  ever  such  a 
babe?  Nay,  I  am  too  weak  even  to  clear  my  arm  from 
him." 

"  Rest,  then,  and  do  not  talk.  I  am  here,  bachJm'V^  (little 
woman). 

"  Well  said,  for  there  is  a  bond  and  a  heel-rope  \^eechare^ 
between  us  now  that  nothing  can  break.  Look — canst  thou 
see  in  this  light?  He  is  without  spot  or  blemish.  Never 
was  such  a  man-^hild.  Ya  illah  /  he  shall  be  a  pundit — no, 
a  trooper  of  the  ^ueen.  And,  my  hfe,  dost  thou  love  me  as 
well  as  ever,  though  I  am  faint  and  sick  and  worn?  Answer 
truly." 

"  Yea.  I  love  as  I  have  loved,  with  all  my  soul.  Lie 
still,  pearl,  and  rest." 

"  Then  do  not  go.  Sit  by  my  side  here — so.  Mother, 
the  lord  of  this  house  needs  a  cushion.  Bring  it."  There 
was  an  almost  imperceptible  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
new  life  that  lay  in  the  hollow  of  Ameera's  arm.  "  Aho!  " 
she  said,  her  voice  breaking  with  love.  "  The  babe  is  a 
champion  from  his  birth.  He  is  kicking  me  in  the  side  with 
mighty  kicks.  Was  there  ever  such  a  babe?  ,  And  he  is  ours 
to  us — thine  and  mine.      Put  thy  hand  on  his  head,  but  care- 


246  WITHOUT  BENEFIT   OF   CLERGY. 

fully,  for  he  is  very  young,  and  men  are  unskilled  in  such 
matters." 

Very  cautiously  Holden  touched  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  the  downy  head. 

"  He  is  of  the  Faith,"  said  Ameera;  "for^lying  here  in  the 
night-watches,  I  whispered  the  Call  to  iPrayer  and  the  Pro- 
fession of  Faith  into  his  ears.  And  it  is  most  marvellous 
that  he  was  born  upon  a  Friday,  as  I  was  born.  Be  careful 
of  him,  my  life;  but  he  can  almost  grip  with  his  hands." 

Holden  found  one  helpless  little  hand  that  closed  feebly 
on  his  finger.  And  the  clutch  ran  through  his  limbs  till  it 
settled  about  his  heart.  Till  then  his  sole  thought  had  been 
for  Ameera.  He  began  to  realize  that  there  was  some  one 
else  in  the  world,  but  he  could  not  feel  that  it  was  a  veritable 
son  with  a  soul.  He  sat  down  to  think,  and  Ameera  dozed 
lightly. 

"  Get  hence,  sahib,"  said  her  mother,  under  her  breath. 
"  It  is  not  good  that  she  should  find  you  here  on  waking» 
She  must  be  still." 

"  I  go,"  said  Holden  submissively.  "  Here  be  rupees. 
See  that  my  baba  gets  fat  and  finds  all  that  he  needs." 

The  chink  of  the  silver  roused  Ameera.  "  I  am  his 
mother,  and  no  hireling,"  she  said  weakly.  "  Shall  I  look 
to  him  more  or  less  for  the  sake  of  money?  Mother,  give  it 
back.     I  have  borne  my  lord  a  son." 

The  deep  sleep  of  weakness  came  upon  her  almost  before 
the  sentence  was  completed.  Holden  went  down  to  the 
court-yard  very  softly,  with  his  heart  at  ease.  Pir  Khan, 
.A.«h<uf-  the  old  watchman,  was  chuckling  with  delight. 
%)^  U4  «  -pi^-g  |-^Q^se  is  now  complete,"  he  said,  and  without  further 
comment  thrust  into  Holden's  hands  the  hilt  of  a  sabre  worn 
many  years  ago,"  wher^  Pir  Khan- served  the  queen  in  the 
police.  The  bleat  of  a  tethered  goat  came  from  the  well- 
curb. 


WITHOUT  BtXEFIT   OF   CLERGY.  247 

"  There  be  two/'  said  Pir  Khar^ — '^  two  goats  of  the  best. 
I  bought  them,  and  they  cost  much  money;  and  since  there 
is  no  birth-party  assembled,  tneir  flesh  will  be  all  mine. 
Strike  craftily,  sahibs'  'Tis  an  ill-balanced  sabre  at  the  best. 
Wait  till  they  raise  their  heads  from  cropping  the  marigolds." 

"And  why?"  said  Holden,  bewildered. 

"  For  the  birtl>sacrifice.  What  else?  Otherwise  the  child, 
being  unguarded  from  fate,  may  die.  The  Protector  of  the 
Poor  knows  the  fitting  words  to  be  said." 

Holden  had  learned  them  once,  with  little  thought  that 
he  would  ever  say  them  in  earnest.  The  touch  of  the  cold 
sabre-hilt  in  his  palm  turned  suddenly  to  the  clinging  grip  of 
the  child  up-stairs — the  child  that  was  his  own  son— and  a 
dread  of  loss  filled  him. 

"Strike!"  said  Pir  Khan.  "Never  life  came  into  the 
world  but  life  was  paid  for  it.  See,  the  goats  have  raised 
their  heads.     Now!     With  a  drawing  cut!  " 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  Holden  cut  twice  as  he  mut- 
tered the  Mohammedan  prayer  that  runs,  "Almighty!  In 
place  of  this  my  son  I  offer  life  for  life,  blood  for  blood,  head 
for  head,  bone  for  bone,  hair  for  hair,  skin  for  skin."  The 
waiting  horse  snorted  and  bounded  in  his  pickets  at  the 
smell  of  the  raw  blood  that  spurted  over  Holden's  riding- 
boots. 

"Well  smitten!"  said   Pir  Khan,  wiping  the  sabre.     "A 
swordsman  was  lost  in  thee.     Go  with  a  light  heart,  IVeaven- 
born.     I  am  thy  servant  and  the  servant  of  thy  son.     May 
the  Presence  live  a  thousand  years,  and  .  .  .  the  flesh  of  the 
gr»ats  is  all  mine?  " 

Pir  Khan  drew  back  richer  by  a  month's  pay.  Holden 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle  and  rode  off  through  the  low- 
hanging  wood^smoke  of  the  evening.  He  was  full  of  riotous 
exultation,  alternating  with  a  vast  vague  tenderness  directed 
tcuard  no  particular  object,  that  made  him  choke  as  he  bent 


2 48  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY. 

over  the  neck  of  his  uneasy  horse.  "  I  never  felt  like  this  in 
my  life,"  he  thought.  "  I'll  go  to  the  club  and  pull  myself 
together.'' 

A  game  of  pool  was  beginning,  and  the  room  was  full  of 
men.  Holden  entered,  eager  to  get  to  the  light  and  the 
company  of  his  fellows,  singing,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,    ', 

"  '  In  Baltimore  a-walking,  a  lady  I  did  meet.'  " 

"  Did  you?  "  said  the  clut>«ecretary  from  his  corner.  "  Did 
she  happen  to  tell  you  that  your  boots  were  wringing  wet? 
Great  goodness,  man,  it's  blood!  " 

"  Bosh !  "  said  Holden,  picking  his  cue  from  the  rack. 
"May  I  cut  in?  It's  dew.  I've  been  riding  through  high 
crops.     My  faith !  my  boots  are  in  a  mess,  though ! 

'  '  And  if  it  be  a  gir^-  she  shall  wear  a  wedding-ring; ,  ^ 
And  if  it  be  a  boyr^he  shall  fight  for  his  king;   f 
With  his  dirk,  and  his  cap,  and  his  little  jacket  blue, 
He  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck — '  " 

"  Yellow  on  blue — green  next  player,"  said  the  marker, 
monotonously. 

He  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck '-—am  I  green,  marker? 
Je  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck' — oucK!   that's  a  bad  shot!  j 
• — 'as  his  daddy  used  to  do! '  " 

"I  don't  see  that  you  have  anything  tqcrow  about,"  said 
a  zealous  junior  civiHan  acidly.  "  The  government  is  not 
exactly  pleased  with  your  work  when  you  reheved  Sanders." 

"Does  that  mean  a  wigging  from  headquarters?"  said 
Holden^, with  an  abstracted  smile.     "  I  think  I  can  stand  it." 

The  talk  beat  up  round  the  ever»fresh  subject  of  each 
man's  work,  and  steadied  Holden  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  his 
dark,  empty  bungalow,  where  his  butler  received  him  as  one 
who  knew  all  his  affairs.  Holden  remained  awake  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  and  his  dreams  were  pleasant  ones. 


^ 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  249 


11. 

^  How  old  is  he  now?  " 

'*  Ya  illahf  What  a  man's  question!  He  is  all  but  six 
weeks  old ;  and  on  this  night  I  go  up  to  the  house-top  with 
thee,  my  life,  to  count  the  stars.  For  that  is  auspicious. 
And  he  was  born  on  a  Friday,  under  the  sign  of  the  "^un, 
and  it  has  been  told  to  me  that  he  will  outlive  us  both  and 
get  wealth.    Can  we  wish  for  aught  better,  beloved?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  better.  Let  us  go  up  to  the  roof,  and 
thou  shalt  count  the  stars — but  a  few  only,  for  the  sky  is 
heavy  with  cloud." 

"  The  winter  rains  are  late,  and  maybe  they  come  out  of 
season.  Come,  before  all  the  stars  are  hid.  I  have  put  on 
my  richest  jewels." 

"  Thou  hast  forgotten  the  best  of  all." 

"Ai!  Ours.  He  comes  also.  He  has  never  yet  seen 
the  skies." 

Ameera  climbed  the  narrow  staircase  that  led  to  the  flat 
roof.  The  child,  placid  and  unwinking,  lay  in  the  hollow  of 
her  right  arm,  gorgeous  in  silver-fringed  muslin,  with  a  small 
skull-cap  on  his  head.  Ameera  wore  all  that  she  valued 
most.  The  diamond  nose-stud  that  takes  the  place  of  the 
Western  patch  in  drawing  attention  to  the  curve  of  the  nos- 
tril, the  gold  ornament  in  the  centre  of  the  forehead  studded 
with  tallow-drop  emeralds  and  flawed  rubies,  the  heavy  circlet 
of  beaten  gold  that  was  fastened  round  her  neck  by  the  soft- 
ness of  the  pure  metal,  and  the  chinking  curb-patterned  sil- 
ver anklets  hanging  low  over  the  rosy  ankle-bone.  She  was 
dressed  in  jade-green  muslin,  as  befitted  a  daughter  of  the 
Faith,  and  from  shoulder  to  elbow  and  elbow  to  wrist  ran 
bracelets  of  silver  tied  with  floss  silk,  frail  glass  bangles 
slipped  over  the  wrist  in  proof  of  the  slenderness  of  the  hand. 


250  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY. 

and  certain  heavy  gold  bracelets  that  had  no  part  in  her 
country's  ornaments,  but  since  they  were  Holden's  gif^and 
fastened  with  a  cunning  European  snap,  delighted  her  im- 
mensely. 

They  sat  down  by  the  low  white  parapet  of  the  roof,  over- 
looking the  city  and  its  lights. 

"  They  are  happy  down  there,"  said  Ameera.  "  But  I  do 
not  think  that  they  are  as  happy  as  we.  Nor  do  I  think  the 
white  mem-log  are  as  happy.     And  thou?  " 

"  I  know  they  are  not." 

"  How  dost  thou  know?  " 

"  They  give  their  children  over  to  the  nurses." 

"  I  have  never  seen  that,"  said  Ameera,  with  a  sigh ;  ^,"  nor 
do  I  wish  to  see.  Ahi !  " — she  dropped  her  head  on  Hofden's 
shoulder-i — "  I  have  counted  forty  stars,  and  I  am  tired.  Look 
at  the  child,  love  of  my  lif^     He  is  counting,  too." 

The  baby  was  staring  with  round  eyes  at  the  dark  of  the 
heavens.  Ameera  placed  him  in  Holden's  arms,  and  he  lay 
there  without  a  cry. 

"What  shall  we  call  him  among  ourselves?"  she  said. 
"Look!  Art  thou  ever  tired  of  looking?  He  carries  thy 
very  eyes!     But  the  mouth " 

"  Is  thine,  most  dear.     Who  should  know  better  than  I?  " 

"'Tis  such  a  feeble  mouth.  Oh,  so  small!  And  yet  it 
holds  my  heart  between  its  lips.  Give  him  to  me  now.  He 
has  been  too  long  away." 

"  Nay,  let  him  lie ;  he  has  not  yet  begun  to  cry." 

"When  he  cries  thou  wilt  give  him  back,— eh?  What  a 
man  of  mankind  thou  art!  If  he  cried,  he  were  only  the 
dearer  to  me.  But,  my  life,  what  little  name  shall  we  give 
him?" 

The  smill  body  lay  close  to  Holden's  heart.  It  was  ut- 
terly helpless  and  very  soft.  He  scarcely  dared  to  breathe 
for  fear  of  crushing  it.     The  caged  green  parrot,  that  is  re- 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  25I 

garded  as  a  sort  of  guardian  spirit  in  most  native  households, 
moved  on  its  perch  and  fluttered  a  drowsy  wing. 

"  There  is  the  answer,"  said  Holden.  "  Mian  Mittu  has 
spoken.  He  shall  be  the  parrot.  When  he  is  ready  he  will 
talk  mightily  and  run  about.  Mian  Mittu  is  the  parrot  in 
thy— in  the  Mussulman  tongue,  is  it  not?  " 

"Why  put  me  so  far  off?''  said  Ameera  fretfully.  "  Let 
it  be  like  unto  some  English  name — but  not  wholly.  For 
he  is  mine.'' 

"Then  call  him  Tota,  for  that  is.likest  English." 

"  Ay,  Tot^Oi-.and  that  is  still  the  parrot.  Forgive  me,  my 
lord,  for  a  minute  agocj.but,  in  truth,  he  is  too  little  to  wear 
all  the  weig^ht  of  Mian  Mittu  for  name.  He  shall  be  Tota 
— our  Tota  to  us.  Hearest  thou,  O  small  one?  Littlest, 
thou  art  Tota." 

She  touched  the  child's  cheek,  and  he,  waking,  wailed, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  return  him  to  his  mother,  who 
soothed  him  with  the  wonderful  rhyme  of  "  Ar^  koko,  Ja  r& 
koko f''  which  says: 

"  Oh,  crow!     Go  crow!     Baby's  sleeping  sound, 

And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle,  only  a  penny  a  pound. 
Only  a  penny  a  pound,  Baba^r^vXy  a  penny  a  pound." 

Reassured  many  times  as  to  the  price  of  those  plums, 
Tota  cuddled  himself  down  to  sleep.  The  two  sleeky  white 
wel'-bullocks  in  the  courtyard  were  steadily  chewing  the  cud 
of  their  evening  meal;  old  Pir  Khan  squatted  at  the  head  of 
Holden's  horse,  his  police  sabre  across  his  knees,  pulling 
drowsily  at  a  big  water-pipe  that  croaked  like  a  bull-frog  ii^^ 
a  pond.  Ameera's  mother  sat  spinning  in  the  lower  veranda, 
and  the  wooden  gate  was  shut  and  barred.  The  music  of  a 
marriage  procession  came  to  the  roof  above  the  gentle  hum 
of  the  city,  and  a  string  of  flying-fo.xcs  crossed  the  face  of 
the  low  moon. 


252  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  .  , 

"I  have  prayed,"  said  Ameera,  after  a  long  pause, ^vith  ^ 
her  chin  in  her  hand*—"  I  have  prayed  for  two  things.  First, 
that  I  may  die  in  thy  stead,  if  thy  death  is  demanded:  .and 
in  the  second^  that  I  may  die  in  the  place  of  the  child.  I 
have  prayed  to  the  Prophet  and  to  Beebee  Miriam.*  Thmk- 
est  thou  either  will  hear?"  •  -''^-^j 

"From  thy  lips  who  would  not  hear  the  lightest  word?" 

"  I  asked  for  straight  talk,  and  thou  hast  given  me  sweet 
talk.     Will  my  prayers  be  heard?  " 

"  How  can  I  say?     God  is  very  good." 

"Of  that  I  am  not  sure.  Listen  now.  When  I  die. or  the 
child  dies,  what  is  thy  fate?  Living,  thou  wilt  return  to  the 
bold  white  ?ne??i-log,  for  kind  calls  to  kind." 

"  Not  always." 

"  With  a  woman,  noj  With  a  man  it  is  otherwise.  Thou 
wilt  in  this  life,  later  on,  go  back  to  thine  own  folk.  That  I 
could  almost  endure,  for  I  should  be  dead.  But  in  thy  very 
death  thou  wilt  be  taken  away  to  a  strange  place  and  a  para- 
dise that  I  do  not  know." 

"Will  it  be  paradise?" 

"  Surely;  for  what  God  would  harm  thee?  But  we  two — 
I  and  the  child — shall  be  elsewhere,  and  we  cannot  come  to 
thee,  nor  canst  thou  come  to  us.  In  the  old  days,  before  the 
child  was  born,  I  did  not  think  of  these  things;  but  now  I 
think  of  them  perpetually.     It  is  very  hard  talk." 

"It  will  fall  as  it  will  fall.  To-morrow  we  do  not  know, 
but  to-day  and  love  we  know  well.  Surely  we  are  happy 
now." 

"  So  happy  that  it  were  well  to  make  our  happiness  as- 
sured.    And  thy  Beebee  Miriam  should  listen   to,  me;    for 

she  is  also  a  woman.    But  then  she  would  envy  me^^ It  is 

not  seemly  for  men  to  worship  a  woman." 

*  The  Virgin  Mary. 


WITHOUT  B  EXE  FIT  OF   CLERGY.  253 

Holden  laughed  aloud  at  Ameera's  little  spasm  of  jealousy. 

"Is  it  not  seemly?  Why  didst  thou  not  turn  me  from 
worship  of  thee,  then?  " 

"Thou  a  worshipper!  And  of  me!  My  king,  for  all  thy 
sweet  words,  well  I  know  that  I  am  thy  servant  and  thy 
slave,  and  the  dust  under  thy  feet.  And  I  would  not  have  it 
otherwise.     See! '' 

Before  Holden  could  prevent  her  she  stooped  forward 
and  touched  his  feet;  recovering  herself  with  a  little  laugh, 
she  hugged  Tota  closer  to  her  bosom.  Then,  almost  sav- 
agelx5  — 

"Is  it  true  that  the  bold  white  ??iemiog  live  for  three  times 
the  length  of  my  hfe?  Is  it  true  that  they  make  their  mar- 
riages not  before  they  are  old  women?  " 

"They  marry  as  do  others — when  they  are  women." 

"  That  I  know,  but  they  wed  when  they  are  twenty-five. 
Is  that  true?" 

"  That  is  true." 

"  Ya  illah!  At  twenty-five !  Who  would  of  his  own  will 
take  a  wife  even  of  eighteen?  She  is  a  woman — aging  every 
hour.     Twenty-five!     I  shall  be  an  eld  woman  at  that  age, 

and Those  mem-log  remain  young  forever.     How  I  hate 

them !  " 

"  What  have  they  to  do  with  us?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  know  only  that  there  may  now  be  alive 
on  this  earth  a  woman  ten  years  older  than  I  who  may  come 
to  thee  and  take  thy  love  ten  years  after  I  am  an  old 
woman,  gray-4ieaded,  and  the  nurse  of  Tota's  son.  That  is 
unjust  and  evil.     They  should  die  too." 

"  Now,  for  all  thy  years  thou  art  a  child,  and  shalt  be 
picked  up  and  carried  down  the  staircase." 

"Tota!  Have  a  care  for  Tota,  my  lord!  Thou,  at  least, 
art  as  foolish  as  any  babe!"  Ameera  tucked  Tota  out  of 
harm's  way  in  the  hollow  in  her  ncck^,  and  was  carried  down- 


254  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

Stairs,  laughing,  in   Holden's   arms,   while   Tota   opened  his 
eyes  and  smiled,  after  the  manner  of  the  lesser  angels. 

He  was  a  silent  infant,  and  almost  before  Holden  could 
realize  that  he  was  in  the  world,  developed  into  a  small  gold- 
colored  godling  and  unquestioned  despot  of  the  house  over- 
looking the  city.  Those  were  months  of  absolute  happiness 
to  Holden  and  Ameera — happiness  withdrawn  from  the 
world,  shut  in  behind  the  wooden  gate  that  Pir  Khan 
guarded.  By  day  Holden  did  his  work;  with  an  immense 
pity  for  such  as  were  not  so  fortunate  as  himself,  and  a  sym- 
pathy for  small  children  that  amazed  and  amused  many 
mothers  at  the  little  station— gatherings.  At  nightfall  he  re- 
turned to  Ameera — Ameera  full  of  the  wondrous  doings  of 
Tota:. how  he  had  been  seen  to  clap  his  hands  together  and 
move  his  fingers  with  intention  and  purposQ,"which  was  mani- 
festly a  miracle  ;Tiow,  later,  he  had  of  his  own  initiative 
crawled  out  of  his  low  bedstead  on  to  the  floor,  and  swayed 
on  both  feet  for  the  space  of  three  breaths.  "And  they 
were  long  breaths,  for  my  heart  stood  still  with  delight," 
said  Ameera. 

Then  he  took  the  beasts  into  his  councils — the  well- 
bullocks,  the  little  ^ray  squirrels,  the  mongoose  that  lived  in 
a  hole  near  the  well,  and  especially  Mian  Mittu,  the  parrot, 
whose  tail  he  grievously  pulled,  and  Mian  Mittu  screamed 
till  Ameera  and  Holden  arrived. 

"  Oh,  villain!  Child  of  strength!  This  to  thy  brother  on 
the  house-top!  Toba/i,  iobahf  Fie!  fie!  But  I_.know  a  ^.^^ 
charm  to  make  him  wise  as  Suleiman  and  Aflatoun."^  Now 
look,"  said  Ameera.  She  drew  from  an  embroidered  bag  a 
handful  of  almonds.  "  See !  we  count  seven.  In  the  name 
of  God!" 

She  placed  Mian  Mittu,  very  angry  and  rumpled,  on  the 

*  Solomon  and  rialo. 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT   OF   CLERGY.  255 

top  of  hi^  cage,  and,  seating  herself  between  the  babe  and 
the  bird* -^racked  and  peeled  an  ahnond  less  white  than  her 
teeth.  "This  is  a  true  charm,  my  life;,  and  do  not  laugh. 
See!  I  give  the  parrot  one  half  and  Tota  the  other."  Mian 
Mittu,  with  careful  beak,  took  his  share  from  between 
Ameera's  lips,  and  she  kissed  the  other  half  into  the  mouth 
of  the  child,  who  ate  it  slowly,  with  wondering  eyes.  "  This 
I  will  do  each  day  of  seven,  and  without  doubt  he  who  is 
ours  will  be  a  bold  speaker  and  wise.  Eh,  Tota,  what  wilt 
thou  be  when  thou  art  a  man  and  I  am  gray-headed?  "  Tota 
tucked  his  fat  legs  into  adorable  creases.  He  could  crawl, 
but  he  was  not  going  to  waste  the  spring  of  his  youth  in  idle 
speech.     He  wanted  Mian  Mittu's  tail  to  tweak. 

When  he  was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  a  silver  belt — 
which,  with  a  magic— square  engraved  on  silver  and  hung 
round  his  neck,  made  up  the  greater  part  of  his  clothing — • 
he  staggered  on  a  perilous  journey  down  the  garden  to  Pir 
Khan,  and  proffered  him  all  his  jewels  in  exchange  for  one 
little  ride  on  Holden's  horse,  -He  had  seen  his  mother's 
mother  chaffering  with  peddlers  in  the  veranda.  •  Pir  Khan 
vveptj,.set  the  untried  feet  on  his  own  gray  head  in  sign  of 
fealty,  and  brought  the  bold  adventurer  to  his  mother's 
arms,  vowing  that  Tota  would  be  a  leader  of  men  ere  his 
beard  was  grown. 

One  hot  evening,  while  he  sat  on  the  roof  between  his 
father  and  mother,  watching  the  never-ending  warfare  of  the 
kites  (that  the  city  boys  flew,  he  demanded  a  kite  of  his  owi^ 
with  Pir  Khan  to  fly  it,  because  he  had  a  fear  of  dealing  with 
anything  larger  than  himself  j.and  when  Holden  called  him 
a  "spark,"  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  answered  slowly,  in  de- 
fence of  his  new  found  individuality:  "  ////;//  'park  nahifi  hai. 
Hum  admi  hair     (I  am  no  spark,  but  a  man.) 

The  protest  made  Holden  choke,  and  devoie  himself  very 
seriously  to  a  consideration  of  Totals  future. 


2 so  WITHOUT  BENEFIT   OF   CLERGY, 

He  need  hardly  have  taken  the  trouble.  The  delight  of 
that  life  was  too  perfect  to  endure.  Therefore  it  was  taken 
away,  as  many  things  are  taken  away  in  India,  suddenly  and 
without  warning.  The  little  lord  of  the  house,  as  Pir  Khan 
called  him,  grew  sorrowful  and  complained  of  pains,  who 
had  never  known  the  meaning  of  pain.  Ameera,  wild  with 
terror,  watched  him  through  the  night,  and  in  the  dawning 
of  the  second  day  the  life  was  shaken  out  of  him  by  fever — 
the  seasonal  autumn  fever.  It  seemed  altogether  impossi- 
ble that  he  could  die,  and  neither.  Ameera  nor  Holden  at 
first  beheved  the  evidence  of  the  body  on  the  bedstead. 
Then  Ameera  beat  her  head  against  the  wall,  and  would 
have  flung  herself  down  the  well  in  the  garden  had  Holden 
not  restrained  her  by  main  force. 

One  mercy  only  was  granted  to  Holden.  He  rode  to  his 
office  in  broad  daylight,  and  found  waiting  him  an  unusually 
heavy  mail  that  demanded  concentrated  attention  and  hard 
work.  He  was  not,  however,  alive  to  this  kindness  of  the 
gods. 

III. 

The  first  shock  of  a  bullet  is  no  more  than  a  brisk  pinch. 
The  wrecked  body  does  not  senc^Jn  its  protest  to  the  soul 
till  ten  or  fifteen  seconds  later.  /.Then  comes  thirst,  throb-' 
1)ing,  and  agony,  and  a  ridiculous  amount  of  screaming.  / 
rlolden  realized  his  pain  slowl)^,  exactly  as  he  had  realized 
his  happiness,  and  with  the  same  imperious  necessity  for  hid- 
ing all  trace  of  it.  In  the  beginning  he  only  felt  that  there 
had  been  a  loss,  and  that  Ameera  needed  comforting- where 
she  sat  with  her  head  on  her  knees,-shivering  as  Mian  Mittu, 
from  the  house-top,  called  *'  Tota!  Total  Total  "  Later  all 
his  world  and  the  daily  life  of  it  rose  up  to  hurt  him.  It  was 
an  outrage  that  any  one  of  the  children  at  the  band-stand  in 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  257 

the  evening  should  be  alive  and  clamorous-when  his  own 
child  lay  dead.  It  was  more  than  mere  pam  when  one  of 
them  touched  him,  and  stories  told  by  overfond  fathers  of 
their  children's  latest  performances  cut  him  to  the  quick. 
He  could  not  declare  his  pain.  He  had  neither  help,  com- 
fort, nor  sympathyf  and  Ameera,  at  the  end  of  each  weary 
day,  would  lead  him  through  the  hell  of  self-questioning  re- 
proach which  is  reserved  for  those  who  have  lost  a  child,  and 
believe  that  with  a  little — just  a  little — more  care-^it  might 
have  been  saved.  ;'  There  are  not  many  hells  worse  than  this, 
but  he  knows  one  who  has  sat  down  temperately  to  consider 
whether  he  is  or  is  not  responsible  for  the  death  of  his  wife.  | 

"  Perhaps,"  Ameera  would  say,  "  I  did  not  take  sufficient 
heed.  Did  I,  or  did  I  not?  The  sun  on  the  roof  that  day 
when  he  played  so  long  alone,  and  1  was — aki !  braiding  my 
hair — it  m.ay  be  that  the  sun  then  bred  the  fever.  If  I  had 
warned  him  from  the  sun  he  might  have  lived.  But,  oh,  my 
life,  say  that  I  am  guiltless!  Thou  knowest  that  I  loved 
him  as  I  love  thee!  -  Say  that  there  is  no  blame  on  me,  or  I 
shall  die— I  shall  die!" 

"There  is  no  blame.-  Before  God,  none.     It  was  writterr,^ 
and  hov/  could  we  do  aught  to  save?     What  has  been,  has 
been.     Let  it  go,  beloved." 

"  He  was  all  my  heart  to  me.  How  can  I  let  the  thought 
go  when  my  arm  tells  me  every  night  that  he  is  not  here? 
Ahi !  a/ii /  O  Tota,  come  back  to  me — come  back  again, 
and  let  us  be  all  together  as  it  was  before!  " 

"  Peace!  peace!  For  thine  own  sake,  and  for  mine  also, 
if  thou  lovest  me,  rest." 

"By  this  I  know  thou  dost  not  care;  and  how  shouldst 
thou?  The  white  men  have  hearts  of  stone  and  souls  of 
iron.  Oh,  that  I  had  married  a  man  of  mine  own  j)eople — ■ 
though  he  beat  me — and  had  never  eaten  ihe  bread  of  an 
alien!  " 


258  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

"Am  I  an  alien,  mother  of  my  son?" 

"What  elsersahib?  .  .  .  Oh,  forgive  me — forgive!  The 
death  has  driven  me  mad.  Thou  art  the  Hfe  of  my  heart, 
and  the  light  of  my  eyes,  and  the  breath  of  my  life,  and — 
and  I  have  put  thee  from  me,^  though  it  was  but  for  a  mo- 
ment. If  thou  goest  away,  to  whom  shall  I  look  for  help? 
Do  not  be  angry.  Indeed,  it  was  the  pain  that  spoke,  and 
not  thy  slave." 

"  I  know — I  know.  We  be  two  who  were  three.  The 
greater  need,  therefore,  that  we  should  be  one." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  roof  as  of  custom.  The  night 
was  a  warm  one  in  early  spring,  and  sheet-lightning  was 
dancing  on  the  horizon  to  a  broken  tune  played  by  far-off 
thunder.     Ameera  settled  herself  in  Holden's  arms. 

"The  dry  earth  is  lowing  like  a  cow  for  the  rain,  and  I — I 
am  afraid.  It  was  not  Hke  this  when  we  counted  the  stars. 
But  thou  lovest  me  as  much  as  before,  though  a  bond  is 
taken  away?     Answer." 

,  "  I  love  more,  because  a  new  bond  has  come  out  of  the 
sorrow  that  ^ye  have  eaten  together;  and  that  thou  knowest." 

"  Yea,  I  know,"  said  Ameera,  in  a  very  small  whisper. 
"But  it  is  good  to  hear  thee  say  so,  my  life,  who  art  so 
strong  to  help.  I  will  be  a  child  no  more,  but  a  woman  and 
an  aid  to  thee.  Listen.  Give  me  my  sitar^  and  I  will  sing 
bravely." 

She  took  the  light  silver-studded  sitar^  and.  began  a  song 
of  the  great  hero  Raja  Rasalu.  The  hand  failed  on  the 
strings,  the  tune  halted,  checked,  and  at  a  low  note  turned 
off  to  the  poor  little  nursery  rhyme  about  the  wicked  crow: 

"  '  And  the  Avild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle^r. 
Only  a  penny  a  pound^^. 
Only  a  penny  a  pound,  Baba — only  ^3'  " 

Then  came  the  tears^and  the  piteous  rebellion  against  fate, 
till  she  slept,  moaning  a  little  in  her  sleep,  with  the  right  arm 


IVITHOL'T  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY.  259 

thrown  clear  of  the  body,  as  though  it  protected  something 
that  was  not  there. 

It  was  after  this  night  that  life  became  a  little  easier  for 
Holden.  The  ever-present  pain  of  loss  drove  him  into  his 
work,  and  the  work  repaid  him  by  filling  up  his  mind  for 
eight  or  nine  hours  a  day.  Ameera  sat  alone  in  the  house 
and  brooded,  but  grew  happier  when  she  understood  that 
Holden  was  more  at  ease,  according  to  the  custom  of  women. 
They  touched  happiness  again,  but  this  time  with  caution. 

"  It  was  because  we  loved  Tota  that  he  died.  The  jeal- 
ousy of  God  was  upon  us,''  said  Ameera.  "  I  have  hung  up 
a  large  black  jar  before  our  window  to  turn  the  Evil-Eye 
from  us,  and  we  must  make  no  protestations  of  delight,  but 
go  softly  underneath  the  stars,  lest  God  find  us  out.  Is  that 
not  good  talk,  worthless  one?  " 

She  had  shifted  the  accent  of  the  word  that  means  "be- 
loved," in  proof  of  the  sincerity  of  her  purpose.  But  the 
kiss  that  followed  the  new  christening  was  a  thing  that  any 
deity  might  have  envied.  They  went  about  henceforth  say- 
ing, "  It  is  naught: — it  is  naught^'  and  hoping  that  all  the 
Powers  heard. 

The  Powers  were  busy  on  other  things.  They  had  allowed 
thirty  million  people  four  years  of  plenty,  wherein  men  fed 
well  and  the  crops  were  certain  and  the  birth-rate  rose  year 
by  year;;the  districts  reported  a  purely  agricultural  popula- 
tion varying  from  nine  hundred  to  two  thousand  to  the  square 
mile  of  the  overburdened  eartlv  '\It  was  time  to  make  room. 
And  the  Member  oif  the  Lower  Tooting,  wandering  about 
India  in  top-hat  and  frock-coat,  talked  largely  of  the  bene- 
fi's  of  British  rule,  and  suggested  as  the  one  thing  needful 
the  e«»tablishment  of  a  duly  qualified  electoral  system  and  a 
general  bestowal  of  the  franchise.  His  long-suffering  hosts 
smiled  and  made  him  welcome,  and  when  he  paused  to  ad- 
mire, with  pretty  picked  words,  the  blossom  of  the  blood-red 


26o  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY, 

dhak-tree,  that  had  flowered  untimely  for  a  sign  of  the  sick  ^cA*XJ 
ness  that  was  coming,  they  smiled  more  than  ever. 

It  was  the  Deputy  Commissioner  of  Kot-Kumharsen, 
staying  at  the  club  for  a  day,  who  lightly  told  a  tale  that 
made  Holden's  blood  run  cold  as  he  overheard  the  end. 

"  He  won't  bother  any  one  any  more.  Never  saw  a  man 
so  astonished  in  my  life.  By  Jove,  I  thought  he  meant  to 
ask  a  question  in  the  House  about  it.  Fellow-passenger  in 
his  ship — dined  next  him — bowled  over  by  cholera,  and  died 
in  eighteen  hours.  You  needn't  laugh,  you  fellows.  The 
Member  for  Lower  Tooting  is  awfully  angry  about  it ;  but 
he's  more  scared.  I  think  he's  going  to  take  his  enlightened 
self  out  of  India." 

"  I'd  give  a  good  deal  if  he  were  knocked  over.  It  might 
keep  a  few  vestrymen  of  his  kidney  to  their  parish.  But 
what's  this  about  cholera?  It's  full  early  for  anything  of 
that  kind,"  said  a  warden  of  an  unprofitable  salt-lick. 

*'*  Dun'no','^  said  the  deputy  commissioner  reflectively. 
"  We've  got  lopusts  with  us.  There's  sporadic  cholera  all 
along  the  north — at  least,  we're  calling  it  sporadic  for  de- 
cency's sake.  The  spring  crops  are  short  in  five  districts, 
and  nobody  seems  to  know  where  the  winter  rains  are.  It's 
nearly  March  now.  I  don't  want  to  scare  anybody,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  Nature's  going  to  audit  her  accounts  with 
a  big  red  pencil  this  summer." 

"Just  when  I  wanted  to  take  leave,  too,'"  said  a  voice 
across  the  room. 

"  There  won't  be  much  leave  this  year,  but  there  ought  to. 
be  a  great  deal  of  promotion.     I've  come  in  to  persuade  the 
government  to  put  my  pet  canal  on  the  list  of  famine-relief- 
works.     It's  an  ill-wind  that  blows  no  good.    I  shall  get  that 
canal  finished  at  last." 

"  Is  it  the  old  programme,  then,"  said  Holden — "  famine, 
fever,  and  cholera?  " 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  261 

"Oh,  no!  Only  local  scarcity  and  an  unusual  prevalence 
of  seasonal  sickness.  You'll  find  it  all  in  the  reports  if  you 
live  till  next  year.  You're  a  lucky  chap.  You  haven't  got 
a  wife  to  put  out  of  harm's  way.  The  hill-stations  ought 
to  be  full  of  women  this  year." 

"  I  think  you're  inclined  to  exaggerate  the  talk  in  the 
bazars^''  said  a  young  civilian  in  the  secretariat.  "  Now,  I 
have  observed " 

"  I  dare  say  you  have,"'  said  the  deputy  commissioner, 
"  but  you've  a  great  deal  more   to  observe,  my  son.     In  the 

mean  time  T  wish  to  observe  to  you "     And  he  drew  him 

aside  to  discuss  the  construction  of  the  canal  that  was  so 
dear  to  his  heart. 

Holden  went  to  his  bungalow,  and  began  to  understand 
that  he  was  not  alone  in  the  world,  and  also  that  he  was  afraid 
for  the  sake  of  another,  which  is  the  most  soul-satisfying  fear 
known  to  man. 

Two  months  later,  as  the  deputy  had  foretold.  Nature  be-^ 
gan  to  audit  her  accounts  with  a  red  pencil^  On  tl^e  heels 
of  the  spring-reapings  came  a  cry  for  bread,  and  the  govern- 
ment, which  had  decreed  that  no  man  should  die  of  want, 
sent  wheat.  Then  came  the  cholera  from  all  four  quarters 
of  the  compass.  It  struck  a  pilgrim-gathering  of  half  a  mil- 
lion at  a  sacred  shrine.  Many  died  at  the  feet  of  their  god; 
the  others  broke  and  ran  over  the  face  of  the  land,  carr)'ing 
the  pestilence  with  them.  It  smote  a  walled  city  and  killed 
two  hundred  a  day.  The  people  crowded  tlie  trains,  hanging 
on  to  the  foot-boards  and  squatting  on  the  roofs  of  the  car- 
riages j.^and  the  cholera  followed  them,  for  at  each  station 
they  dragged  out  the  dead  and  the  dying^on  the  platiornis' 
reeking  of  lime-wash  and  carbolic  acid.j  They  died  by  the 
roadside,  and  the  horses  of  the  Englishmen  shied  at  the 
corpses  in  the  grass.  The  rains  did  not  come,  and  the  earth 
turned  to  iron  lest  man  should  escaj^e  by  hiding  in  her.     The 


2ti2  WITHOUT   BENEFIT  OF  CIEKGY. 

English  sent  their  wives  away  to  the  riills,  and  went  about 
their  work,  coming  forward  as  ihey  were  bidden  to  fill  the 
gaps  in  the  fighting  line.  Holden,  sick  with  fear  of  losing 
his  chiefest  treasure  on  earth,  had  done  his  best  to  persuade 
Ameera  to  go  away  with  her  mother  to  the  Himalayas. 

"  Why  should  I  go?  "  said  she  one  evening  on  the  roof. 

"  There  is  sickness,  and  the  people  are  dying,  and  all  the 
white  mem-log  have  gone." 

"All  of  them?*' 

"All — unless,  perhaps,  there  remain  some  oid  scald-head 
who  vexes  her  husband's  heart  by  running  risk  of  death." 

"Nay;  who  stays  is  my  sister,  and  thou  must  not  abuse 
her,  for  I  will  be  a  scald-head  too.  I  am  glad  all  the  bold 
white  mem-log  are  gone." 

"  Do  I  speak  to  a  woman  or  a  babe?  Go  to  the  ^ills,  and 
I  will  see  to  it  that  thou  goest  like  a  queen's  daughter.  Think, 
child.  In  a  red-lacquered  bullock-cart,  veiled  and  curtained, 
with  brass  peacocks  upon  the  pole  and  red-cloth  hangings. 
I  will  send  two. orderlies  for  guard,  and " 

"  Peace!  Thou  art  the  babe  in  speaking  thus.  What  use 
are  those  toys  to  me?  Z;'^  would  have  patted  the  bullocks 
and  played  with  the  housings.  For  his  sake,  perhaps — thou 
hast  made  me  very  English — I  might  have  gone.  Now  I 
will  not.     Let  the  77ie?n-log  rvmy 

"  Their  husbands  are  sending  them,  beloved." 

"  Very  good  talk.  Since  when  hast  thou  been  my  husband 
to  tell  me  what  to  do?  I  have  but  borne  thee  a  son.  Thou 
art  only  all  the  desire  of  my  soul  to  me.  How  shall  I  de- 
part when  I  know  that  if  evil  befall  thee  by  the  breadth  oi 
so  much  as  my  littlest  finger-nail — i^  that  not  small? — I 
should  be  aware  of  it  though  I  were  in  Paradise?  ,  And  here, 
this  summer  thou  mayest  die — ai,  janee,  die!— and  in  dying 
they  might  call  to  tend  thee  a  white  woman,  and  she  would 
rob  me  in  the  last  of  thy  love!" 


IVITIIOL'T  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY.  263 

"  But  love  is  not  born  in  a  moment,  or  on  a  death-bed."  ! 

"What  dost  thou  know  of  lo'e,  stone-lieart?  Slic  would 
take  thy  thanks  at  least,  and,  by  God  and  the  Prophet  and 
Beebee  Miriam,  the  mother  of  thy  Prophet,  that  I  will  never 
endure.  My  lord  and  my  lo^•e,  let  there  be  no  more  foolish 
talk  of  going  away.  Where  thou  art,  I  am.  It  is  enough." 
She  put  an  arm  round  his  neck  and  a  hand  on  his  mouth. 

There  are  not  many  happinesses  so  complete  as  those  that 
are  snatched  under  the  shadow  of  the  sword.  They  sat  to- 
gether and  laughed,  calling  each  other  openly  by  every  pet 
name  that  could  move  the  wrath  of  the  gods.  The  city  be- 
low them  was  locked  up  in  its  own  torments.  Sulphur^fires 
blazed  in  the  streets;  the  conches  in  the  Hindu  temples 
screamed  and  bellowed,  for  the  gods  were  inattentive  in  those 
days.  There  was  a  service  in  the  great  Mohammedan  shrine, 
and  the  call  to  prayer  from  the  minarets  was  almost  unceas- 
ing. They  heard  the  wailing  in  the  houses  of  the  dead,  and 
once  the  shriek  of  a  mother  who  had  lost  a  child  and  was 
calling  for  its  return.  In  the  gray  dawn  they  saw  the  dead 
borne  out  through  the  city  gates,  each  litter  with  its  own 
little  knot  of  mourners.  Wherefore  they  kissed  each  other 
and  shivered. 

It  was  a  red  and  heavy  audit,  for  the  land  was  very  sick 
and  needed  a  little  breathing-space  ere  the  torrent  nf  cheap 
life  should  flood  it  anew.  The  children  of  immature  fathers 
and  undeveloped  mothers  made  no  resistance.  They  were 
cowed  and  sat  still,  waiting  till  the  sword  should  be  sheathed 
in  November,  if  it  were  so  willed.  There  were  gaps  among 
the  English,  but  the  gaps  were  filled.  The  work  of  superin- 
tending famine^elief,  cholera-sheds,  medicine-distribution, 
and  what  little  sanitation  was  ])ossible  went  forward  because 
it  was  so  ordered. 

Holden  had  been  told  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to 
move  to  replace  the  next  man  who  should  fall.     There  were 


264  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

twelve  hours  in  each  day  when  he  could  not  see  Ameera; 
and  she  might  die  in  three.  He  was  considering  what  his 
pain  would  be  if  he  could  not  see  her  for  three  months,  or  if 
she  died  out  of  his  sight.  He  was  absolutely  certain  that 
her  death  would  be  demanded — so  certain  that,  when  he 
looked  up  from  the  telegram  and  saw  Pir  Khan  breathless  in 
the  doorway,  he  laughed  aloud,  "And?" — said  he. 

"  When  there  is  a  cry  in  the  night  and  the  spirit  flutters 
into  the  throat,  who  has  a  charm  that  will  restore?  Come 
swiftly,  heaven-born.'     It  is  the  black  cholera." 

Holden  galloped  to  his  home.  The  sky  was  heavy  with 
clouds,  for  the  long-deferred  rains  were  at  nand,  and  the  heat 
was  stifling.  Ameera's  mother  met  him  in  the  court^yard, 
whimpering,  "  She  is  dying.  She  is  nursing  herself  into 
death.     She  is  all  but  dead.     What  shall  I  do,  sahib?" 

Ameera  was  lying  in  the  room  in  which  Tota  had  been 
bom.  She  made  no  sign  when  Holden  entered,  because  the 
human  soul  is  a  very  lonely  thing,  and  when  it  is  getting 
ready  to  go  away^hides  itself  in  a  misty  border-land  where  the 
living  may  not  follow.  The  black  cholera  does  its  work 
quietly  and  without  explanation.  Ameera  was  being  thrust 
out  of  life  as  though  the  Angel  of  Death  had  himself  put  his 
hand  upon  her.  The  quick  breathmg  seemed  to  show  that 
she  was  either  afraid  or  in  pain,  but  neither  eyes  nor  mouth 
gave  any  answer  to  Holden's  kisses.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  said  or  done.  Holden  could  only  wait  and  suffer.  The 
first  drops  of  the  rain  began  to  fall  on  the  roof,  and  he  could 
hear  shouts  of  joy  in  the  parched  city. 

The  soul  came  back  a  little  and  the  lips  moved.  Holden 
bent  down  to  listen.  "  Keep  nothing  of  mine,''  said  Ameera. 
"Take  no  hair  from  my  head.  She  would  make  thee  burn 
it  later  on.  That  flame  I  should  feel.  Lower!  Stoop 
lower!  Remember  only  that  I  was  thine  and  bore  thee  a 
son.     Thous^h    thou    wed    a    white   woman    to-morrow,    the 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY.  265 

pleasure  of  taking  in  thy  arms  thy  first  son  is  taken  from 
thee  forever.  Remember  me  when  thy  son  is  born — the 
one  that  shall  carry  thy  name  before  all  men.  His  misfor- 
tunes be  on  my  head.  I  bear  witness — 1  bear  witness  " — 
the  lips  were  forming  the  words  on  liis  ear — "that  there  is 
no  God  but — thee,  beloved-" 

Then   she   died.      Holden   sat   still,   and.  thought   of    any  U^c*^ 
kindlwas  taken  from  him.-till  he  heard  Ameera's  mother  lift 
the  curtain. 

"Is  she  dead,  sahib?" 

"  She  is  dead." 

"  Then  I  will  mourn,  and  afterward  take  an  inventory  of 
the  furniture  in  this  house;  for  that  will  be  mine.  The 
sahib  does  not  m.ean  to  resume  it.  It  is  so  little,  so  very 
little,  sahib,  and  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  would  Hke  to  lie 
softly." 

"For  the  mercy  of  God,  be  silent*  awhile!  '  Go  out  and 
mourn  where  I  cannot  hear." 

"  Sahib,  she  will  be  buried  in  four  hours."  ' 

"  I  know  the  custom.  I  shall  go  ere  she  is  taken  away. 
That  matter  is  in  thy  hands.  Look  to  it.that  the  bed — on 
which — on  which — she  lies " 

"Aha!  That  beautiful  red-lacquered  bed.  I  have  long 
desired '' 

" — That  the  bed  is  left  here  untouched  for  my  disposal. 
All  else  in  the  house  is  thine.  Hire  a  cart,  take  everything, 
go  hence,  and  before  sunrise  let  there  be  nothing  in  this 
house  but  that  which  I  have  ordered  thee  to  respect." 

"  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  would  stay  at  least  for  the  days 
of  mourning,  and  the  rains  have  just  broken.  Whither  shall 
I  go?" 

"What  is  that  to  me?  ]\Ty  order  is  that  there  is  a  going. 
The  house-gear  is  worth  a  thousand  rupees,  and  my  orderly 
shall  bring   thee  a  hundred  rupees  to-night." 


266  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

"  That  is  very  little.     Think  of  the  cart-hire." 

"  It  shall  be  nothing  unless  thou  goest,  and  with  speed. 
O  woman,  get  hence,  and  leave  me  to  my  dead!  " 

The  mother  shuffled  down  the  staircase,  and  in  her  anx- 
iety to  take,  stock  of  the  house-fittings  forgot  to  mourn. 
Holden  stai'd  by  Ameera's  side,  and  the  rain  roared  on  the 
roof.  He  could  not  think  connectedly  by  reason  of  the 
noise,  though  he  made  many  attempts  to  do  so.  Then  four 
sheeted  ghosts  ghded  dripping  into  the  room  and  stared  at 
him  through  their  veils.  They  were  the  washers  of  the 
dead.  Holden  left  the  room  and  went  out  to  his  horse. 
He  had  come  in  a  dead,  stilling  calm,  through  ankle-deep 
dust.  He  found  the  court-yard  a  rain-lashed  pond  alive  with 
frogs,  a  torrent  of  yellow  water  ran  under  the  gate,  and  a 
roaring  wind  drove  the  bolts  of  the  rain  like  buckshot  against 
the  mud  walls.  Pir  Khan  was  shivering  in  his  little  hut  by 
the  gate,  and  the  horse  was  stamping  uneasily  in  the  water. 

"  I  have  been  told  the  sahib's  order,"  said  he:'  "  It  is  well. 
This  house  is  now  desolate.  I  go  also,  for  my  monkey-face 
would  be  a  reminder  of  that  which  has  been.  Concerning 
the  bed,  I  will  bring  that  to  thy  house  yonder  in  the  morning,; 
But  remember,  sahib,  it  will  be  to  thee  as  a  knife  turned  in 
a  green  wound.  I  go  upon  a  pilgrimage»,and  I  will  take  no 
money.  I  have  grown  fat  in  the  protection  of  the  Presence, 
whose  sorrow  is  my  sorrow.  For  the  last  time  I  hold  his 
stirrup." 

He  touched  Holden's  foot  with  both  hands,  and  the  horse 
sprang  out  into  the  road,  where  the  creaking  bamboos  were 
whipping  the  sky  and  all  the  frogs  were  chuckHng.  Holden 
could  not  see  for  the  rain  in  his  face.  He  put  his  hands  be- 
fore his  eyes  and  muttered:  "Oh,  you  brute!  You  utter 
brute!"  -"-•        ^e^^K^ 

The  news  of  his  trouble  was  already  in  his  bungalow.  He 
lead  the  knowledge  in  his  butler's  eyes  when  Ahmed  Khan 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF   CLERGY.  267 

brought  in  food,  and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  Hfe 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  master's  shoulder,  saying:  "Eat,  sahib- 
eat.  Meat  is  good  against  sorrow.  I  also  have  known. 
Moreover,  the  shadows  come  and  go,  sahib.  The  shadows 
come  and  go.     These  be  curried  eggs." 

Holden  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep.     The  heavens  sent 
down  eight  inches  of  rain  in   that  night  and   scoured  the 
earth  clean.     The  waters  tore  down  walls,  broke  roads,  and 
washed  open  the  shallow  graves  in  the  ^Mohammedan  bury- 
ing-ground.     All  next  day  it  rained,  and  Holden  sat  still  in 
his  house  considering  his  sorrow.     On  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  he  receved  a  telegram  which  said  only:   "  Ricketts,'^^^ 
Myndonie.     Dying.    Holden.    Relieve.    Immediate."     Then 
he  thought  that  before  he  departed  he  would  look  at   the 
house  wherein  he  had  been  master  and  lord.     There  was  a 
break  in  the  weather^     The  rank  earth  steamed  with  vapor,        \^  ' 
and  Holden  was  vermilion  from  head  to  heel  with  the  prickly-  ^  '^  \ 
heat  born  of  sultry  moisture. 

He  found  that  the  rains  had  torn  down  the  mud  pillars 
of  the  gateway,  and  the  heavy  wooden  gate  that  had  guarded 
his  life  hung  drunkenly  from  one  hinge.  There  was  grass 
three  inches  high  in  the  court-yard;  Pir  Khan's  lodge  was 
empty  and  the  sodden  thatch  sagged  between  the  beams.  A 
gray  squirrel  was  in  possession  of  the  verandah  as  if  the  house 
had  been  untenanted  for  thirty  years  instead  of  three  days. 
Ameera's  mother  had  removed  everything  except  some  mil- 
dewed matting.  The  tick-tick  of  the  little  scorpions  as  they 
hurried  across  the  floor  was  the  only  sound  in  the  house. 
Ameera's  room  and  that  other  one  where  Tota  had  lived 
were  heavy  with  mildew;  and  the  narrow  staircase  leading 
to  the  roof  was  streaked  and  stained  with  rain-borne  mud. 
Holden  saw  all  these  things,  and  came  out  again  to  meet  in 
the  road  Durga  Dass,  his  landlord — portly,  affable,  clothed  iu 
white  muslin,  and  driving  a  C-spring  buggy.      He  was  over- 


268  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

looking  his  property,  to  see  how  the  roofs  withstood  the 
stress  of  the  first  rains. 

"I  have  heard,"  said  he,  "you  will  not  take  this  place  any 
more,  sahib?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?  " 

"Perhaps  I  shall  let  it  again." 

""'  Then  I  will  keep  it  on  while  1  am  away." 

Durga  Dass  was  silent  for  some  time.  "You  shall  not 
take  it  on,  sahib,"  he  said.  "When  I  was  a  young  man  I 
also — —  But  to-day  I  am  a  member  of  the  municipality. 
Ho!  ho!  No.  When  the  birds  have  gone,  what  need  to 
keep  the  nest?  I  will  have  it  pulled  down  •"  the  timber  will 
sell  for  something  always.  It  shall  be  pulled  down,  and  the 
municipality  shall  make  a  road  across,  as  they  desire,  from 
the  burning-ghat  to  the  city  wall,.  So  that  no  man  may  say 
where  this  house  stood." 


14  DAY  USE 

RBTURN  TO  D.SKPKOM  WHICH  BORKOW.O 
JLOAN  DEPT. 


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